The Ultimate Joke
by Pierides
Summary: He wanted puppets, but she embraced arson freedom and became her own puppeteer. Edward Nashton, meet Harleen Quinzel. One is an enigma obsessed with puzzles, the other a Queen of Spades. Who will break the other first? And what’s the Joker’s role in this?
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

"_**The story wasn't the same: 'Step into my parlor,' the spider whispered to me, but the spider wasn't the most dangerous creature."**_

* * *

Gotham was sleeping, peaceful, calm, boring. The city had grown quiet—much too quiet for the man standing, staring out at the dark streets below.

The mob still worked, criminals still existed, but nothing was as exciting as three years ago. Three years ago the world, well city, had been close to a meltdown. Three years ago explosions wracked every day, haunted every mind. Three years ago the Joker was the volatile mastermind and he had had Gotham clenched in his fist. Everyone had felt their control slipping away.

Those had been some thrilling times; too bad the man had been captured and carted away to the infamous Arkham Asylum. Batman was such a prude. It truly was a pity, but change was just beyond the horizon.

The man's mouth formed a furtive smile, his deep hazel eyes twinkling in some hidden satisfaction. Yes, change was coming, in fact already underway. He wondered if any of the _innocent_ inhabitants of the city could sense the next master prepared to string the population in fear. Most likely not, but that would make the truth all the more cruel and fun to reveal. He would enjoy carrying out his plans, and what plans they were.

The Joker's reign was over. It was time for another expert to take over. Order was its own chaos; this city would bow beneath him. It wouldn't be hard, no—everyone could be twisted to serve his end. He may not be as sporadic as the Joker had once been—he planned his actions weeks, sometimes months in advance—but nonetheless he would see this city's true nature.

He pulled away from the window of his office and tightening his short, ebony pony-tail he returned to his desk. He toggled his mouse and the blaring computer screen reappeared. He sat down, dusting off his khaki pants. Crime could be planned anytime; waiting only tantalized the pot, and how he longed to continue to draw out his plans, his dastardly formulas. Now, however, was the time for work. Wayne Enterprises was expecting a new security update in a week.

Wayne Enterprises? Hmmm, it was a temptation. He raised his hands over the keys, his eyes boring into the screen. Should he tamper with the system? The corporation had advanced technology. He could use it to his advantage. His mouth once again stretched into a grin, his white teeth revealed. Their evenness added to the skin-crawling picture his face made with his eyes alight in dementia.

"Mr. Nashton?"

The dark look vanished from his face as he looked up, his hands stilling from busily typing.

"Yes, Elisa?" He smiled charmingly, the action matching his level voice.

The young secretary blushed lightly. Little puppets, all of them, he thought. She was leaning slightly in the door. "Are you busy, sir? Carol requested you look over this schematic for errors."

"Carol, sure, sure. Give it here, I'll be done in a jiffy." He nodded and held out a hand for the customary folder. She did as told and was soon leaving the room. He placed it on his desk a little too roughly and glowered at it. How long had the woman left this unattended to? He flipped through it quickly and glanced at the clock. Damnable woman, but if the best was expected, he couldn't disappoint. He fished a red pen from his shirt pocket and started reading the numbers and information.

Planning the plan would be all the more pleasurable when all other things weren't being a distraction. The first part of the plan had already been completed; the police were going to enjoy his little message.

* * *

Harleen's heels clicked on the mosaic floor of the entrance. Her sapphire eyes took in the subtle art and immaculate appearance of the place. If she didn't know any different, she'd never expect this to be Arkham Asylum. From here it looked rather peaceful, deceptively so. Who could imagine the various "patients" kept here? She could, she'd been deeper into the building when she was interning through medical school, but that had been six years ago. The place had undergone a redecoration, that was for sure.

She was inwardly quaking as she continued to proceed through the entrance area to the front desk. Curious eyes watched her movements. She ignored their stare; her anxiety wasn't caused their gazes. Of course the news had spread through the Asylum, she wasn't even surprised as she heard two orderlies speaking in a hushed tone they thought she would be unable to hear.

"That's his new psychiatrist."

"No way, that's _his_ new shrink? She's a petite little thing. How's she gonna handle him?"

She smirked. How indeed? She wouldn't have taken this job if she doubted her abilities. She ignored all the awed and disdainful glares. Too bad, if she was ruining someone else's opportunity, but they'd requested her. She knew her certification in Forensic Psychiatry probably earned her the position, but she clearly heard other gossip as she made it to the front desk. Snobby, twittering gits.

"Excuse me," she spoke, her voice light and feminine.

The receptionist, an older woman with graying brown hair looked up at her sweetly. "How can I help you?"

Harleen smiled back, "I'm Harleen Quinzel, the new resident psychiatrist, I was told to come to the desk to receive my patient's file." She held out her new, laminated Arkham security I.D. badge. She noted that as soon as she said her name the woman's face paled. She watched the receptionist pulled a hefty file folder, filled with paper from the desktop.

"Dear, you're the doctor?" She tried to joke, but Harleen could tell she was unnerved. "Yeah, I'm Dr. Quinzel." She held out her hand, which the woman took while the other received the file folder. "How'd they black-mail you into taking this man's case?" "They didn't, I was quite happy to take it, actually." The woman nodded, but Harleen already knew her next words.

"Are you crazy?"

Harleen chuckled, "I think we all are in some way." She shugged, "Maybe, who's to know? Thanks for the file. May I ask you something? Could you possibly tell me what time I'm to report here tomorrow for my first session with him? Dr. Arkham didn't tell me."

"Of-of course, dear." The woman typed on her computer for a moment. "Dr. Quinzel, your first appointment is at 3:00." Harleen nodded, "Thank you." She smiled and turned to go. "Good luck, dearie." She flashed the receptionist another grin of gratitude.

"So," she heard as she exited the building, "that's the Joker's new psychiatrist. How long you think this one will last?"

"Fresh meat? I give her less than a month."

That was confidence, huh? She shook her head, her mid-length flaxen locks catching the bright sunlight of the afternoon. She ran her fingers through the loosened strands and smiled. A month?

She'd last much more than that, of that she was confident.

This was an exciting prospect for her—of course she was a little wary, as well, who wouldn't be if they were requested to work with the Joker? The man had no motives, no past (he wasn't talking about it, anyway). He was a pathological liar, except when he "gave his word", and his mind was a puzzle. He was insane, but intelligent, two things that often didn't mix, at least in the context he used his I.Q. for. He was a challenge, and Harleen loved challenges. Her heart fluttered in anticipation of the next day, overriding her fear. She'd remember the dangers posed, however, and would not let her excitement shadow her sense; that was a mistake her new patient would love for her to make. No, she would not underestimate this man; she'd respect him.

The buzzing of her cell-phone interrupted her exultation. She shifted her load of papers in her arms and extricated the device from her pocket.

_Gotham MCU_.

Her eyebrows furrowed. It'd been a year since the place had called her. She'd long ago left the job of criminal profiling to pursue actual psychiatric work in treating people, not testifying for or against them. The field was enjoyable, but working with the sole reason to map a person's mind for law purposes had bored her; it had never posed enough of a challenge for her. The criminals were easy to read, and often had rather bland mental problems. But, she was good at her job, and had kindly offered to help if the department ever needed her again.

"Hello, this is Harleen Quinzel speaking." She answered the call respectfully.

"Miss. Quinzel, have you seen the news in the last hour?" A man's voice asked, a little frantic.

"No."

"Heard the radio?"

"No, I've been working." The man sounded extremely stressed, which caught Harleen's attention. "Are you free currently?" "Yes, I've just gotten off of work."

"Please, could you down to the station immediately? Do you know the way?"

"Yes to both, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Officer, what's happened?"

The man's voice was distracted, but it hadn't lost its edge, "You'll be filled in when you arrive, or maybe you'll find out on the way here. It's being blasted on every radio and T.V. channel."

"See you then, then." She shut the phone without waiting for a return of the phrase and rushed to her car.

The black sports car started up and Harleen turned on her radio with the volume escalated.

"…**not in yet, but there's been a mass number of casualties at Wayne Enterprises as well as what is being reported as a mass heist of millions of dollars of technology. Jackie, do you think this should be considered a security threat for the whole city? Wayne Enterprises' technology was manufactured for army intelligence and communication operations and…"**

Harleen was speeding from the parking lot before the message had finished. The situation sounded like some generic organized crime plot, but if the police were in a panic then it was worst than just that. The government was hiding the truth of the crime in order not to cause the city to break into mass hysteria.

* * *

The Major Crimes Unit of Gotham was bustling with chaotic energy, an energy that reminded Harleen of three years ago. It made her skin tingle in excitement, reminding her why the job of criminal profiling had attracted her all that time ago.

The feeling of not knowing, of having to solve a mystery with little to no clues, was chaotic and Harleen loved the feeling. She was drawn to the zeal. Yet, the fervor would often be drenched, the criminals were too easy to find after she had completed the mapping of their characteristics. The challenge had been too brief to keep her.

'Don't get yourself too comfortable, this will probably be done a matter of hours. The criminal will be found because of the profile and this problem will be solved.' She told herself and composing her appearance and stepped further into the building.

"Miss Quinzel!"

She turned her head at the sound of her name. A man while short, graying brown hair was waving her. It took no time for her to recognize him, though it was surprising he knew her.

"Commissioner Gordon," she smiled kindly however.

His gray-blue eyes were haggard, but there was a determination there. He held out a hand to her.

"I'm sorry we've called you back here," he explained as they shook hands, "but we've got an interesting case on our hands, and our other workers can't make heads or tails of it."

"I'll certainly try my best, Commissioner, but I'm sure I'm not that special," she flushed humbly. Gordon smiled, "You've certainly got something if the boys suggested I call you." Her face turned redder, and her smile got bigger as she averted her eyes. "Well, thanks. So will you fill me in on what exactly's going on? I know the story being broadcasted isn't the whole truth."

"You are sharp," he commented and gestured for her to follow as he continued to speak. "Lt. Hawkins, the man who called you will be giving the basic run-down of the situation. I need to start at the beginning, though."

"The beginning?"

"Yes, just a week ago the Gotham Police Department received a strange letter. At the time it was treated as some prank, they happen often here, but today on the crime scene was another message, written on the same kind of paper. And there were other similarities."

"So this criminal made his presence known before striking?" Harleen made a mental note. The person then was looking for some enjoyment. He/she wanted recognition; they wanted their prey to know who was pursuing them. There was one trait, then. This person was narcissist. They were proud of their crimes and they wanted the world to know it.

That reminded her of the Joker. She'd seen the broadcasts, heard the stories. The man was narcissistic as well. She puckered her lips; maybe this would be interesting after all. She'd been unable to work on the Joker case, she'd been out of town for his reign. Her parents had needed some attending to, but once she returned the re-runs of his chilling campaign and threats were broadcasted on every news station to celebrate his capture, and she was disappointed that she had missed such an opportunity, but at least the guy had been stopped. She'd been sore that she'd been unable to profile the case, though, for weeks.

Her best friend, Pamela Isley, had soothed her assuring the slightly younger girl of how much luck she had, happening to go out of town when she did. She understood that was how the world turned, and she soon let it go; what an opportunity that would have been, though. Profiling the criminal that held Gotham captive for perhaps weeks—it would have been exhilarating.

Gordon had left the woman to her thoughts as they maneuvered through the rush of the unit as everyone continued to try to make sense of the sudden attack. No one could figure out what the motive had been—heaven forbid they get another mastermind who had none.

"Dr. Quinzel," Commissioner Gordon stopped. Harleen too paused and brought her attention back on the man. He pointed to the door they stood beside. "Here we are, step into this room and everything will be explained."

The room was an office. She stared around quickly and her gaze came to a stout man with a receding gray, hairline. She took a seat beside him in front of the desk.

"You must be Lt. Hawkins, we talked on the phone. I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel." She bowed her head slightly.

Lt. Hawkins tipped his head and smiled, "Ma'am."

"Okay, now that the introductions are finished," Gordon began as he took a seat behind the desk—so, Harleen thought, this _was_his office, "Ryan, let's begin." At a nod from the officer, Gordon turned his attention to Harleen.

"Here is the letter the department received a week ago from an unknown source. Our crime lab has dusted for foreign fingerprints, but nothing came up." He handed the woman a folded, emerald card. On outside was drawn a carefully crafted, black question mark. She nodded and opened the card.

_Good day or perhaps night to all of you at Gotham's illustrious police department. I do hope you are having a wonderful time, after all crime is easier to fight now-a-days, right? I just wanted to thank you guys for clearing the streets of that awful Joker character. We can all sleep better at night. Furthermore I have a question for all of you._

_Want to play a game?_

The message was typed eloquently, but what caught her attention more was once again the hand-crafted signature. It was a cluster of four golden question marks circling a single dot.

"And you say there was another, similar card at the crime scene today?" Harleen asked placing the card before her on the dark, oak desk.

"Yes," Hawkins replied, "but first I'll tell you what happened. Last night at about what we believe to be two in the morning, someone disabled the security grid of Wayne Enterprises; a difficult task, let me tell you. As a result there is no surveillance footage, but the job was carried out by multiple men, because there is no way more than one person was able to make it from the ground floor to the sixth, killing fifteen guards in the process on their own. The equipment taken also would have required various men repeatedly returning to take it down. A window was also destroyed, that's how they lowered the larger devices. There is a mastermind, a person leading these guys. We want the mastermind; we find their followers, however, and we'll find them, we hope."

Harleen listened carefully and held out her hand, "Let me see this new letter, then." Gordon handed it to her. "It was sticking out of one of the dead guards' mouths."

Once again it was emerald with the question mark there, perfectly resembling the prior card. A stamp, Harleen concluded. She opened it.

_You never answered my card, so I thought I'd begin this game of chess. I made a quite a mess of your pawns, didn't I? Forgive me, but they were keeping me from the king. I've decided that you will play my game, whether you want to or not. Normal life has become boring, no challenge._

_So here's your first clue to the next move I'll make:_

_With no wings, I fly. With no eyes, I see. With no arms, I climb. More frightening than any beast, stronger than any foe. I am cunning, ruthless, and tall; in the end, I rule all._

_You ponder over that, it's the first part. Here's the second._

_I do not talk myself, others do through me. I weave fantastic dreams, but can also cause horrid screams. I can be anywhere at anytime, but only if I'm placed there._

The signature was the same. Another stamp, then.

"This person, whoever they are, is not your normal average thug," Harleen began. "They are very intelligent, the fact they hacked into and shut down Wayne Enterprises' security system is evidence of that, unless the person enlisted another to do that, but they know the layout of the place. There were no thugs dead on the scene were there?"

"No," Gordon shook his head.

"The guy who planned this heist, yes, this was planned, knew the layout of the place and knew exactly where the guards were. They killed them off strategically. So either they've studied and been within the corporation, or Mr. Wayne has an informant within his circle of trust."

Gordon was writing this down. "Anything else?"

"The criminal you're looking for is a narcissist. They enjoy telling you what they're planning before they do it. They take pride in their talents. They are also Obsessive-Compulsive. The insignia and signature are both perfect replicas, which points to a stamp being used. It has to be perfect, which is a reason why the messages are typed and not hand-written. I foresee that this person was bullied in school, their intelligence a result of their reasoning to become superior to their predators. This person has a motive, that is more of my opinion, but it seems they are planning much too thoroughly not to. They have an end result in mind."

Both of the men's faces seemed to become less tense at her statement that the culprit had a motive. They were dealing with a schemer. Gordon sighed, "Dr. Quinzel, thank you so much for sacrificing time to come down here. May I ask that you work with us on this case?"

Harleen bit her lip. Should she offer her services to help these men? The culprit was a complex character; even she had no idea who the person could be yet. They were very thorough in covering their tracks and unlike the Joker, didn't leave a calling card _and_ dead thugs. She stared straight into Gordon's eyes. "I will help you, Commissioner. May I suggest that you figure out those riddles first?"

Hawkins and Gordon smiled. "We'll do that, would you like copies of the cards to look over as well?"

"If it's not too much trouble." Hawkins stood up and took the cards from the desk and Harleen's hands. "Be back."

That left Harleen and Commissioner Gordon alone. "Dr. Quinzel, I know you must have a very busy life, and I do not wish to interfere with your job."

"Don't worry, I just started today at Arkham Asylum, and I'll gladly help. This case certainly seems worth my time, I do love tests." She smiled and Gordon returned the gesture softly. "You are working at Arkham now?"

"Yes, I was offered the job a few days ago."

"What kind of patients have they given you?" Harleen was aware he was making sure they began on a trustful foot, made a friendly environment. "I currently only have one patient to my assignment, but if I told you who you'd not believe me."

"Oh," he raised a brow, "who?"

"Maybe later…before I leave." She smirked. She wasn't in the mood for the questions that would surely follow that answer. Gordon nodded and chuckled. "Fine, I'll play the game. So why did you did leave the precinct?" Harleen sighed, "Honestly, Commissioner, the crimes weren't a challenge to me. I was shrinking beneath the ease of the cases so I quit and took up treating patients instead of analyzing them for reasons to why they would commit a crime. I do, wish sometimes, though to come back, especially when the case is challenging."

"You have your wish, but I'll not ask you to join us full-time. We have your number, so we'll call you."

Harleen nodded, "Sure, you can call anytime, day or night, I mean it."

"I'll remember that. I have feeling you will be vital for this case."

The door opened and Hawkins returned, handing Harleen a sheet of paper with an image of both letters copied onto it.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Well, I must go, I'll have to look over this and my patient's file before I head to bed tonight, not to mention, a girl's got to eat." She stood up and began to leave.

"Commissioner, my patient, he's," she opened the door and flashed a smile back at the two men. "He's the Joker." The door shut behind her leaving both men in silence. She chuckled to herself and made her way out of the building. Maybe having the guy as a patient would help her catch this new criminal.

* * *

**_Months ago I saw The Dark Knight and for weeks on end I wanted to write a fanfic with Heath Ledger's Joker. I wasn't planning on a Harley/Joker fic, but suddenly it made sense. I hope I can impress and show originality when it comes to this pairing, which has been done before in this genre. This is my first fic for this category and constructive criticism would be appreciated. I'm excited to unveil this fic and I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own The Dark Knight or any of its characters. However Harley's personality, Edward, Lt. Hawkins, and any other character not associated with Christopher Nolan's franchise belongs to me._**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

"_**Every tragedy, I've heard, begins simply: some accomplishment that would blind from the knife that would plunge inevitably into the breast, but what if both this tragedy and I wielded blades?"**_

* * *

It was times like these that she praised her late schedule. Harleen's face still showed subtle signs of sleep, but she'd only awoken three hours ago. She'd been up late last night, raking her mind for an answer to the riddles, and then she'd read over her patient's file. It had taken her until four in the morning to finish her tasks and eat.

She was refreshed, though, and that's all that mattered. She stuffed her hands into her pristine, new Arkham lab coat and coaxed a shortened strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, while the rest was clasped behind her head in a messy bun. She wore trace amounts of make-up, the most distinguishing being black eye-liner and her crimson lips.

Once again she endured the stares of her colleagues and the security staff. She laughed silently to herself as she passed through the security check and made her way toward the small, quaint room where she would be meeting with the Joker. In her pocket she stowed a small, silver tape recorder in order to record the sessions, and an egg timer to time them. She'd come prepared, remembering all the cautions that had been written in regards to the man.

The largest and most stressed was the NO SHARP OBJECTS warning. She shook her head and unlocked the door using the key code the front desk had given her. They changed the code every so often so the Joker would not be able to memorize it and escape.

"Well, well," she heard a voice when entered into the door and her head snapped up instantly to stare at the man sitting at the table, hands and feet handcuffed to his chair. "No wonder they restrained me, let me guess, you're a present for me."

To say that she was surprised to see her patient already in there waiting for her was an understatement. She heard the door shut behind her and offered the man a bright smile.

"Unfortunately for you, no, I'm Dr. Quinzel, you're new psychiatrist." She came over to the table as well and sat in front of him. "You're here before me, and here I was thinking that it was customary for the doctor to arrive before the patient in this place, what a shame."

The Joker blinked his dark, brown eyes at her for a moment; he seemed rather confused. And he was. The woman hadn't even shown a bit of fright. He chewed the inside of his cheeks. "You sure you're my doctor?" He leaned forward until his arms vaguely ached in their binds.

"You are the Joker, right? If the answer is no, then the answer to your question would be, yes, I have the wrong man."

He smirked at her and his tongue darted out to wet the corner of his mouth. "I was told that I'm not allowed to call myself 'The Joker', it's against my psychological profile or something like that."

"In the reports I've read of you, it doesn't seem you've listened very well. Hmmm," she rolled her eyes, "Massive aggression- once took a doctor's pen and forced it through his cheek. Three psychiatrists have quit as a result of being unable to handle you, and two have ended up as patients in this very same asylum. Shall I can go on?" She folded her hands on the table and raised a brow at her patient.

He lowly chuckled, "You're my new doc-tor…where'd they find you?" She chose not answer that immediately. She studied the man before her for a moment. He was most definitely the Joker she'd heard of, but without his grease painted mask and faintly green hair—it was back to being its original deep blonde—he looked no different from any other man except for the scars that gave him a permanent Glasgow smile. Yet, Harleen didn't find them especially atrocious; she'd wave them off as war-wounds or something. Medical school had revealed to her disfigurements much more terrifying than the one before her.

"Hey, are you going to answer my question? I really dislike people without manners, you know. Really dislike them." He smacked his lips, a dark glare in his eyes and Harleen had to force herself to center her attention. This session was just to be an introduction to him. Of course he'd ask questions, what didn't she know about him? Well, other than the obvious things he'd not told anyone?

"The Gotham West Psychiatric Complex."

"Have they really gotten desperate enough to go somewhere that small and less accredited to get me a doctor?" He seemed to enjoy the joke he'd made. "But I'll give this to ya, you're composed very well. Bravo…if I had my hands I'd clap for ya, but they don't trust me." He rattled his restraints.

"I requested that, actually. Next session you'll be unrestrained." Joker tilted his head.

"You huh? So you _are_ scared. And here ya almost amazed me, and I'll tell you _that _would've been something."

"You are the man who refers to himself as the Joker, you ran amuck on Gotham three years ago, and you wouldn't suggest at least some caution with a person like you?" She asked in interest.

"A person like me? What is a person like me?" The Joker posed and took the time while she strung an answer to study her intently.

A petite thing she was, but she had strength in her posture… well confidence at least. Though she had said little, but common phrases, he could tell she was a sharp individual. He knew those types, okay; it was a look in her blue eyes and the way she held herself, but she wasn't of average intelligence. Another trait that caught his attention—oh how unfortunate for her—was that she didn't show any outward signs of being afraid.

"I honestly have no idea what could be used to define to you. I've heard you called a psychopathic, mass murdering, schizophrenic clown with zero empathy, whatsoever."

"Do you believe it?" Joker asked, staring into her eyes. She fought off a quiver of some foreign emotion and shrugged, "I'm not sure what to think, I've not diagnosed you yet, but I am coming to dislike the term 'schizophrenic'. I don't think you suffer from hallucinations, more like a simple disillusionment."

His eyes narrowed, "You talk pretty bold, small as you are. You look like a doll, a fragile little thing I could snap in half." He licked his lips, "I could snap you in half, but you're beautiful, really beautiful…you know I once had a wife that was as pretty as you."

Harleen's mouth pulled slightly to the right in amusement. "Yes, she wanted you to smile more. She also gambled. She got in deep and they carved her up. You guys were poor and didn't have enough money for surgery and she was in so much pain, and well you just wanted to see her smile again, let her know you didn't care about the scars. So you took a razor and did this," she demonstrated with her hands to the sides of her face, "to yourself, and she, she couldn't stand the sight of you. She left and now you see the bright side, you're always smiling. I've heard that story, and the one about your father, and I don't believe a word of either of them."

"So I'm lying?"

Harleen nodded. "Yes, that's the way the arrow's pointing. Two different stories…it's not looking good for your reputation, sir." She crossed her arms.

"You've got spunk, I like that. And despite the sarcasm coming out of your lips, I can think of some other things that I'd love for them to do." His tongue once again snaked out and wet his lips, his eyes dark. Harleen snorted.

"That's a low blow. You think you're going to scare me with lewd comments? I spent five years as a criminal psychiatrist in Gotham's Police department; I've been through the works. Anything you could come up with I've most likely heard before, so get some fresh material if you want to see me blush. I'm very comfortable with myself."

The Joker chuckled. She had lots of fight in her, and he _did_ like that. Unlike most women, in whom he found the trait a little annoying, he enjoyed her moxie. She had a clever tongue, one that seemed able to keep up with him; he'd have to test that theory out sometime.

"A criminal psychiatrist, eh? That's what got you this job and here I thought…" He giggled.

Harleen frowned, "And you call yourself 'ahead of the curve'…and you're assuming what some of my new co-workers are."

The Joker threw his head back, "And bingo, I've found it…Dr. Quinzel's sensitive about her outward morality, especially when it comes to sex. Has someone tried to solicit you? Did daddy get too handsy? What's the doctor hiding under that shrew frown of hers?"

He leaned forward and gazed expectantly into her eyes, which squinted and twitched just slightly. "As a matter of fact, no, but people who know nothing about me decide they can make up what they wish for my life. I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Joker, of all the accusations you could have made, you decide to go with one of the most common responses. That's what irks me, I expected a better answer from you, but ah, you don't do what's expected. Yet, wasn't that an expected rejoinder? Maybe you're more predictable than you let on, hm?"

Oh, she loved to pressed buttons, did she? The Joker glowered at her. Wasn't she suppose to be acting like a psychiatrist, you know, someone who asked the boring questions like 'How does that make you feel?' or 'What does the picture bring to mind, name the first word that pops into your head?' She was different, much different, than his previous shrinks.

"You think you're the first to think they could crack me with unconventional methods?" His eyes were abysses of anger. Harleen could almost imagine him now with the grease-paint, holding a knife gleefully to her throat, but she just stared coolly back at him.

"Yeah," she said simply just to witness his reaction. He began to shake with laughter, disdainful laughter. "You are something else, Doc, no one's ever stared me in the eyes and said that with confidence."

"Well, maybe I see you as nothing, you know? Maybe all you are to me is a challenge, nothing more. Maybe I'm a solipsist and I'm the only real thing in this universe, I just invented you to challenge me." She sounded absurd, even to herself, and she openly laughed. The Joker joined in. She really was something else, something that intrigued him very much.

"I like you, I've never liked anyone. You be sure to come back and see me, Dr. _Quin_zel, I enjoyed our little conversation."

"Well aren't you lucky, then. I'll be back tomorrow at the same time."

"Oh no, I'm not lucky, I'm blessed to get an angel like you." He smacked his lips as she stood up and prepared to leave the room. She pushed in her chair beneath the black-topped table, a contrast against the white walls of the room. She felt the Joker's eyes on her back as she began to walk away, but went on—well would have went on had her cell-phone not begun to nosily ring.

The Joker cocked an eyebrow as she stopped and pulled it from her pocket. She glanced quickly down at it and hurriedly answered. 'She's allowed to keep her phone on her?'

"Lt. Hawkins, what do you-"

She turned around and stared over the Joker's head at the black television suspended in the corner of the wall near the ceiling. "Yeah, I'm near one."

She rushed over to it and turned it on and began to manually search through the channels.

"There's a what? Sh-The Children's Imagination Network? Yeah…Uh huh, ok, ok, I'll watch it, yeah, I'll call him."

She shut the phone and her fingers stopped on the channel.

"Holy shit," she whispered, "the riddles!"

Then she began to mutter, the Joker could barely make out her gibberish, but she was repeating the clues the letter had stated yesterday.

"Imagination and television! They were going to broadcast on this television channel!" Low and behold the screen was black and resting in the center was a green question mark.

The Joker was thrown, and that was saying something. What was the woman going on about and why was she watching this boring screen? He opened his mouth to say something, but Harleen already had her phone open again and was dialing a number.

"Hello? This is Dr. Quinzel…Commissioner Gordon! I-are you near a television? Yes, well turn it to the Children's Imagination Network…Their broadcasting there. No, they haven't said anything yet. It's the answer to the riddle. Imagination and television. Whoever this crock is they're broadcasting their next move."

Now this caught the Joker's attention. As she shut the phone and stowed it back in her pocket he spoke up once again, "What are we watching this for?" He whispered like it was some secret. Harleen jumped; she'd forgotten where she was. She glanced at him, but if she was going to answer his question she was abruptly interrupted by the television. The voice was gritty and purposely distorted, but its excitement and emotions were easily discerned.

"**Boys and girls, police and commoners, and Miss Harleen Quinzel…lend me your ears! Did you figure out my riddle? Congratulations if you did. I see my first checkmate caught your attention, I mean you brought out the big guns, huh, didn't you Commissioner? Dr. Harleen Quinzel…are you listening? I want you to call me. Yes, do call me, my pretty little harlequin. I have a riddle especially for you, doll. But first…what's black, white, and has a dazed smile, and loves to make you laugh? Can you answer Dr. Quinzel? Hope you're not too sore that I found out about you."**

Harleen snarled. "It's a jester," she spat, "a clown jester, a harlequin. Ha ha."

"**Easy, right? But I had to begin in a place where even the most diminished of minds could comprehend. It's a…HARLEQUIN! Are you a clown, Miss. Quinzel? Will you make me laugh? Why don't you call me, Miss Quinn? I'll give you an hour…I may be as you put it, a planner, but I've planned that if you don't return my call within that allotted time, I'm well, I'm bored, so I decided if I was bored I'd…I know…If you don't call me, I'm going to…"**

The screen changed from its solid background and emblem to a dusty room, where in cuffs there lay Lt. Hawkins, blind-folded on the floor, tied-up. Harleen's eyes widened.

"Lieutenant…" Harleen whispered.

"**I'm going to dress him up as a cute little jester, shoot him in the head, and hang him on top of Wayne Enterprises tomorrow for the city to see. It's your call, poppet. Talk to me. Here's my number."**

Harleen had already pulled her phone from her pocket and was entering the number as it flashed on the screen, bright green.

Harleen turned it on speaker and placed it on the table. She then grabbed her tape recorder, setting it beside the device and hitting record. She leaned with her hands on the surface over the phone as it rang.

Once.

Twice.

"Helllloooo." The voice from the television greeted.

"Here I am, so you going to waste my time or get down to your true purpose? What do you want, Riddler?" She had to restrain her voice from more than a menacing growl.

"Oh, you're quick, I'm glad you decided to listen to Lt. Hawkins…and Riddler, eh? That has a nice ring to it, as does Harley Quinn."

"Nice blow, amateur, as if I haven't heard that joke before. It's quite lame if you ask me." She seethed.

"You've got a temper, there, Harley…but I've got things to do people to please, so I'll not suggest that you get help with that little flaw, I won't tell you how dangerous it can be."

"Yeah," Harleen snorted, "I appreciate it. What. Do. You. Want?"

"You've earned yourself a position in my little game. For now, you're just an annoying pawn, but if you play right, you can quickly raise. I have a riddle for you. You get it right and I'll let Hawkins leave unharmed, you get it wrong and I break a few ribs, no…I won't kill him. I implied I'd set him free if you called me and I will, but I never said in what condition. So are you ready?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Harleen gazed up at the Joker who stared at her phone in curiosity.

* * *

The Riddler, or better known to himself and his few friends as Edward Nashton, had gone quiet at the sound of the man's child-like inquisitive voice.

"Who is that?" He barked; he was not pleased with being listened to by a second party.

"Well, Mister, you caught me while I was in session with my patient."

Edward chuckled, "Did I, now? How are you faring with the Joker?"

"She has me hand-cuffed to a chair, but," the Joker purred, "I'm not complaining."

There was silence and then, "You're not making this any better."

"Are you going to whip me again? I do like it when you use the whip." He giggled excitedly and Harleen just sighed. "Riddler, ignore him, I'm doing fine as you can hear. Now, I'm ready, but only on one condition."

"Awww," the Joker whined, "you can't just leave me hanging, c'mon, Doc."

Edward cocked an eyebrow, though it was invisible to anyone else. He took a deep breath. "What's this condition, Harley?"

"How do I know you haven't already harmed or killed Lt. Hawkins?" Ah, he smirked. He walked over to the door of the abandoned apartments he'd relocated to and entered into the room where he held the man hostage. He leaned over the body. "Excuse me, Lieutenant, have I harmed you in way other than knocking you out, tying you up, and blind-folding you? Dr. Quinzel wants to know. Answer honestly, or I might just have to go back on the promise I made to the fine lady, and we certainly don't want that." He placed the phone beside the man, who had stiffened at the sound of his voice. "Tell her!"

"No, Harleen, I'm fine. Please, don't worry about me I'll-"

"See," Edward had swiped the phone and was speaking smugly, "I'm telling the truth, and I intend to be honest to you. So you want my riddle?"

"Yes," Harleen replied, "not that I have any choice in the matter."

"See, you do catch on quick. Okay, here it goes…and Harley, _he_ can't help you."

"The Joker can't help, okay, I got it."

"Good," he walked from the room and back into the one he'd originally been in. He leaned against the wall and stared into the dimness. "Let's see, Ms. Quinn, a riddle for you…hm…Oh, here's one. Jenn picked a book off the highest shelf in her room. On the spine she read "How to Jog". She ran out of the room and opened the book but found it had absolutely nothing to do with jogging. What was the book about?"

"That's the riddle?" Her voice was a little off, strained when she answered a few minutes later.

"What, too random for you?"

"No," she chuckled, "too easy, but you're going to play this nicely. You asked that I solve your riddle and you'd let Lt. Hawkins go unhurt, no re-dos. You'll keep your word. The answer is the book is an encyclopedia containing the letters HOW through JOG. Checkmate, monsieur." Her voice was too smug for his tastes. He growled. "What did I ruin your _plan_?" She laughed quietly and Edward could hear the muffled chuckles of the Joker as well.

"You were fortunate, Harley, very fortunate." He sputtered in anger and snapped his fingers.

Three men walked into the room. They were your normal, hired thugs with ski masks. Edward covered the phone.

"Take Lt. Hawkins and leave him on the Northside bridge." He ordered and when they didn't seem to be moving fast enough he screeched, "GET GOING!" They rushed from the room, aware that their boss was not happy at all.

"Alright, Ms. Quinn, you win this little round, but you may not be so lucky next time," he spoke icily after he had ripped his hand from the mouth-piece. "You want Lt. Hawkins, you can have him. He'll be on the Northside Bridge in twenty minutes. I trust you know where that is."

"I know where it is," Harleen stated, her voice still odd, but Edward was too enraged to question.

"I hope you're enjoying my game, my little puppet. It'll only get better, and better. Who knows what the stakes will be next time. You still willing to bet?"

"Shut up, you bastard," she declared tiredly, "you're already making mistakes. You know so much about what my role is in your investigation, so you must have been present last night to hear my debriefing, now all I'll need to do is find out who was in the station that night as witnesses. Then it'll be a piece of cake to find you. I thought I was going to have a challenge, but I'm sadly mistaken, even the Joker's got a better reputation than you."

Edward snorted, "Oh, and yet he's the one in prison."

"Oh, isn't he just scary," he heard the Joker mutter.

"You won't be too far behind him, Riddler. I'll find out who you are and then you're going to spill about your motive." Harley promised darkly.

"Motive? Who says I have a motive?" He laughed. It was wiped away by his quarry's next statement.

"I do. You're a schemer, and the thing about schemers is they always have an ulterior motive for their actions, so don't feed me any bullshit about 'what motive?' So want to tell what it is now, or shall we play another game?"

"You are far too bold, doctor, you're gambling unwisely."

"Thanks for the comment, even if it was rather useless. You need anything else or can I go and fetch your hostage now?"

"You watch that smart little mouth, or-"

"Or what, you'll make me smile permanently? Please, don't try to be a Joker replica, you're already boring me with your sorry attempt to get my attention…You're becoming droll and I've not even met you, yet…Pity."

"Harley Quinn, one day that sharp tongue of yours will be your undoing, but all that you spout is words, words that make me laugh. Will you continue to make me laugh, doll?"

"Yeah," Harleen twittered in tart enthusiasm, "I'll make sure you go with a side-splitting smile."

"You do that, poppet, you do that. Until our next chat, adieu."

He shut the phone and squeezed his fist tightly. How dare that little bitch! He glared down at the phone he was attempting to crush and threw it to the floor. He began to stomp on it furiously, imagining it was that doctor's hands or perhaps her unmarred face. She would rule the day she back-talked him like she was more superior. She was a puppet, a new wood carved piece in his game and that was it.

He chuckled, a strange sound. She was just a puppet, there was no need to get too upset yet. She hadn't ruined any of his plans. He'd actually been hoping she'd figure out the riddle. Oh, but the next one he gave it would take her a while. Already plans were moving through his head. He had a date for his appearance already named mentally. What jolly fun he'd have…He'd show that damned woman who was a challenge, who reigned supreme, just like he'd show Bruce Wayne and the mayor for repeatedly refusing to fund his research into the human psyche, the tests it would take to prove that the human mind could be copied into nothing more than data. He'd show them all—the bullies, and the high and mighty who laughed at his ideas who was smarter.

He ran a soothing hand through his shoulder-length locks and grabbed his emerald fedora hat from the floor and placed it on his head. He left the shattered remains of his cell phone on the floor; he'd get another one tomorrow. It was a puppet phone besides.

* * *

"You're not funny," Harleen stated coldly to the Joker as she replaced her tape recorder in her pocket. "This wasn't some fun game. That man could have died because of me." She couldn't believe she'd desperately blurted that out, and to the Joker no less. The man grinned, the action made more ghastly by his scars.

"You were scared," the Joker accused in-between roaring laughter, "out of everything that could have frightened ya, you were scared of them." Harleen glared at him.

"If looks could kill, babe, I'd be dead, but I like that angry scowl, makes you look sexier."

Harleen turned away, grabbing her phone from the table-top and stuffing back into her pockets with more force than was necessary. "I'm hurt, you know," she ignored the Joker and stomped to the T.V. and turned it off, "I'm certainly scarier than the Riddler, and you have no problem with me."

"You're not out on the streets tormenting people anymore." She replied harshly, but his words hit her as a stunning realization. The guy before her was random, chaotic and the one she was just dealing with was nothing of the sort. They could be predictable if she just set her mind to it, focused enough.

"Okay, whatever you say," he sing-songed. She frowned and began to leave, she still had to go pick-up Lt. Hawkins and get him to the hospital.

"You're nasty," she called back, knowing it was childish.

"What, you still sore about me licking your hand when _you_ decided to cover my mouth to stop me from helping you? I wouldn't have, you know…they just wanted you to answer."

"Yeah uh-huh, but I have a feeling you would have spoken just out of spite whether or not it was to help."

"Oh," the Joker sighed, closing his eyes, "you know you liked it, I certainly did. You," his voice dropped an octave and became huskier, "tasted very sweet."

She didn't dare look back at him, she just strolled from the room.

"Bye, Dr. Harley Quinn, see ya tomorrow."

The door shut and he smirked. He wouldn't have helped her solve the riddle, her precaution was endearing though. No, he realized how much of a game this _truly_ was. It was a contest he wasn't a part of yet. He had a feeling he would be soon, though. He'd wait then, he did have patience if nothing else. His dark eyes swept over to the door leading out.

He couldn't wait to see her pretty blue eyes again, hear her barbed words. He leaned back in the chair and waited for security to come get him. Harleen Quinzel…a puppet with her own strings, how exciting. His own personal jester…


	3. Chapter 3

**

* * *

**

CHAPTER THREE

"_**I had bought a one-way ticket to derailment, not that I knew this at the time, but the days were ticking by, the fuse alight in poisoned hands...yet who's to say that my ticket wasn't void?"**_

* * *

"Yeah, the Northside Bridge…I'm getting him. Yeah, meet you there, Commissioner!" She threw the phone onto her dashboard, and put her focus back on the highway zipped by, Harleen heard the sound whip by her ears vaguely as she zigzagged through traffic. Exhilaration bubbled in her blood as she narrowly escaped death with her every movement. Horns blared behind her, but she vaguely acknowledged them—she cringed in apology, but that was the jest of it.

She felt her pulse rocketing, adrenaline making her extra sensitive. She pressed her foot further on the gas pedal. The speed limit was non-consequential, it didn't matter. She wasn't worrying about being pulled over—she'd take the police on a chase if she had to. There was only one important goal for her now: Lt. Hawkins. She saw the exit she had to take and swerved down the ramp, ignoring more annoying horns.

The hazy air and buildings that denoted the Narrows of Gotham rose before her. She had only a few more streets to go before the Northside Bridge would be in sight. She bit her lip, her hands shaking on the steering wheel. Was it a trap? She quickly pushed away the warning her brain was sending; it didn't matter. If so, so be it. At this point she was happy to be waltzing into a setup.

The trip she was taking would have taken any normal person fifteen minutes, but Harleen had pulled it off in seven. She rocketed into a lane and rolled down her window as if doing so would allow her a better view. The Northside Bridge was just feet ahead, and Harleen was focused on that, not the curses she could now stridently hear from the other motorists at her recklessness. Recklessness? She scoffed and pressed her foot on the pedal again, veering onto the shoulder—she could see the figure of Lt. Hawkins mid-way down the length of the bridge.

"Dr. Quinzel!" Hawkins exclaimed seconds later after she had jumped from her car and pulled his blindfold off.

She offered him a tired smile and began to undo his bindings; neither the Riddler nor their minions had wanted to make her job _too_ easy.

"Are you alright?" She asked, helping him to his feet.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a little shaken. You work fast, Harleen."

She led him to her car, not saying anything until she was back in the driver's seat. She sighed and leaned her head onto the steering wheel a moment. "This Riddler…Do you remember anything?" She glanced to the side and started the car before pulling herself upright.

"No, I was just making a routine traffic stop and the hoodlums sprayed something in my face. The next I know I'm tied up and blind-folded and the 'Riddler'—you call 'em—was talking in that mechanical voice you heard. They didn't sound human at all."

Harleen nodded and pulled back into traffic, this time obeying the laws. She took a deep breath; the adrenaline wearing off and her heartbeat slowing. Her breath was coming easier now, albeit still unevenly.

"Well, I need to get you to the hospital just to be safe," she sounded regretful, but Lt. Hawkins reached over and patted her shoulder. "It's fine, I understand, probably could use the check-up anyway." She smiled weakly at his low chuckle. "Do you remember anything that could help us catch this guy?"

Hawkins leaned back and sighed. "Wherever they held me it was close. Five minutes from here tops…It took no time to drop me on the bridge." Harleen's hands tightened on the steering wheel. Of course, she should have known a criminal like this one would be close by, that way perhaps they could watch their quarry. She mentally notched a mark under the disorder of Bipolar Mania. Her new chess mate had definite mood swings.

"I'll notify Gordon then when we get to the hospital; he said he'd meet us there. Abandoned apartments and hotels within five minutes of the Northside Bridge…the room you were held in had blue, floral wall-paper, definite sign of a cheap apartment or hotel." She lifted a hand from the wheel and rubbed her head; she could feel a headache coming.

"Sharp eye you got there, Dr. Quinzel."

Harleen blushed at the compliment, but said nothing pertaining to it. Instead she narrowed her eyes on the road, "We got to stop this guy before they try anything else. I just know the next crime isn't going to be this docile."

* * *

Somber skies embraced the building and all of Gotham. Rain pattered against the large windows as Edward sat at his desk writing a lengthy and very irritating apology letter to Bruce Wayne for his security system malfunction. Yet, his spirits were high. He had shortly forgotten the majority of his anger for this tedious task.

His third riddle had been delivered to The Gotham Police Department. That had been three days ago, and the riddle gave them four days to stop him. Four measly little days that had almost passed. Tomorrow he would strike. He grinned and the malicious glint returned to his golden eyes. He shoved the letter to the side of his desk. He'd type it up all nice and clean later. He turned his stare to the darkened skies, gloomy times were certainly coming…coming. He let out a little snort, but the intercom on his desk interrupted anymore deranged celebration.

"Mr. Nashton," Elisa's small voice stated, "Commissioner Gordon is on line 2."

"Thank you, dear." He said politely, although his face was hard and angry. He picked up his phone and pressed the appropriate button.

"Nygma Inc. Edward Nashton speaking." He leaned back in his seat elongating the phone cord as he went. He nodded his head. "Commissioner Gordon, I understand. It was a tragedy that someone did that to Mr. Wayne. How much merchandise? No way. Of course, of course. I told you when I came down that day that I would help you in any way I could." He twisted the cord around his fingers. "The Security blueprint? Yeah, I can bring it down." Then Gordon was talking.

The man irked him. He was too involved. Unlike the late Commissioner Loeb, this man was both involved in his previous unit and in politics. He tracked criminals and perfected and created new legislation. What an annoying bug he was. Yet, he too was a mere pawn to be done away with. Other than Harleen, the Commissioner was his only entertainment. He rolled his eyes and forced himself to once again focus on the Police Commissioner; he'd tuned him out long enough.

"Harleen Quinzel?" He was inwardly grinning. He had come back to listen at the most fortunate moment. "Yes, I saw her a few days ago. Is she, now? My, my…No I've never spoken to her personally. Oh, I have no problem with her being there tonight when I come. By the way when would like me to come down? Five it is, Commissioner. No, this is no trouble at all. I'll see you then. Should I bring flowers for the lady?" He chuckled, though it was secretly forced. "What? A beautiful woman such as her and with brains as well is certainly my type and every woman deserves gifts. Yes, certainly, I'm only a man after all, where would I be without pretty women?"

He joined in with the Commissioner's laughter that echoed over the phone before bidding his leave and he hung up. He stood up and grabbed his blazer from the back of his chair and dusted his pin-striped pants off.

He crossed his office and removed his umbrella from its stand and left the room.

"Elisa, I'm taking my lunch break, I'll be back in an hour. Take my calls until I get back, please." He told the secretary in passing before entering the business lobby. One glance told him no one was lingering in the halls socializing. At this his shoulders slumped and a dark glower morphed his face.

Commissioner Gordon, how nauseating the man was. Edward wondered how long until the Rodent on Steroids got involved—Batman. Oh, so what if the procedure was to arrest "the vigilante known as Batman on sight"? He gave a snort; that wouldn't happen. Whoever Batman was he never had anything to do with the murder of Harvey Dent or the cops, something told him that. Logically the pieces of the puzzle didn't fit. He killed Harvey Dent, the cops, but not the Joker and yet he still fought injustice? Yeah, something fishy was up with that, and Commissioner Gordon knew what it was.

Batman would soon be involved in the game; it was just a matter of waiting. Perhaps his next move would cause the police to play their trump knight. And then Edward could start the real fun. He wanted the truth. What really happened to Harvey Dent?

Edward's inner musing had taken him down the lobby, into the elevator, and down to the ground floor. When the doors opened from the transportation device he was brightly smiling again with a hint of madness at the edges of his lips and in his stare. The more players the better the game and the better the game, the bigger the stakes; oh what fun was to be had at the expense of Gotham.

'Time to place your bets folks,' he thought, opening his emerald umbrella and stepping into the drizzle of rain that clouded Gotham, just like their next villain.

* * *

_Now men, hasten your pace. What kind of person kidnaps a police officer in broad daylight with no witnesses? This isn't looking good for your record, men. Tsk, tsk this is rather disappointing. And here I thought you men had improved in the last three years…how sorely it seems I was mistaken. Ah, but you can change my mind, and Dr. Quinn, you keep sharp. Can you solve this riddle? I do hope so…you have four days until I commit my crime. Can you stop me?_

_I am not alive, but I grow; I don't have lungs, but I need air; I don't have a mouth, but water kills me. What am I?_

_There's what I plan to do and now to the rub—where the action happens._

_Black and red, I make my stand in a suite of two, a guided hand. I am not needed so you toss me away for use upon another day. I make company with a group who numbers the same as the weeks in a year. You listen to me, oh, sweet one you're the latest one. And this is where you work and here is where I currently, under watch, lurk._

_That last one is for you, Harley Quinn…Can you find me out?_

Harleen replayed the riddles in her head. The first one was simple; it stood for fire, a flame. It had something to do with fire. So he was planning something with fire. But the other was standing at the ledge of her mind. The answer dangled at her fingers and she felt so close to finding it.

She only had one more day. Tomorrow they'd strike.

She shook her head; the riddle could be deciphered after work. She'd need her senses about her now to deal with her famous patient. She entered in the key code and the door swung open to reveal the empty room.

She tentatively stepped in, already knowing that there was something wrong. The Joker wasn't sitting at the table where he usually sat, even after being unrestrained for a few days. The door shut behind her with a hollow sound, and Harley felt the urgency in the air.

She was suddenly aware of where the Joker was. She felt herself being watched, but she was too slow to act as two arms wrapped around her waist from behind.

"Hello, _**beautiful**_," his voice stated with joy in her ear as one of his hands began an upward roam from her stomach.

She acted on instinct as she grabbed his wandering hand and whipped around to face him, her face indignant. A resounding smack echoed in the silent room and Harleen felt the sting against her other palm.

She'd done it. She had slapped the Joker.

Just the realization of what she'd just done made her eyes go wide. 'Him. I just slapped him.' But then he reached up with his hand, releasing her and touched the reddened skin. His laugh was mirthless and his eyes were dark as he stared at Harleen.

She'd pissed him off.

Harleen backed up quickly as the Joker continued to laugh and placed the table between her and him. All the while all she could think of was that she'd hit him and he hadn't liked that.

Of course he had remained as lewd from their first session. He'd continued to make suggestive remarks and had since played with her hair, winding it around his finger or smoothing it back—earning his hand a swipe. He'd also attempted to hold her hand, which she forcefully avoided. And all that he'd enjoyed, but now…Harleen felt herself shaking. Damn her instincts.

The anger was quick; it had been on reaction that he'd even gotten angry. She'd hit him, the little firecracker! My, my she was still proving to be interesting. She became more and more intriguing everyday to the Joker. He watched her as she retreated behind the table and his chuckles became amused. He licked his lips.

"So you are, uh, scared, huh?" He rubbed his face vaguely. "But you slap pret_**ty**_ good for a girly."

Harleen knew she'd shown her true colors, but wasn't about to lose face. There were guards stationed outside the door and if he attempted a go at her she'd be able to get out before he could stop her. She thanked her continued exercise for keeping her gymnast body. She hoped her face hadn't gotten pale as she raised her eyes to glare at the Joker.

"You're the Joker, you expect me to run into your arms?" She stated slowly.

"If only you did," he lowered her head and stared up at her, "if only you did."

She was a little ballerina of a girl, but with fire and dynamite for a soul. He could see it, and it attracted him strongly. There was just something about her…

Silence stretched on for a full minute after that. The Joker stared at her, straightening his posture, but never breaking eye contact. She returned the gesture, her eyes never faltering. He was inwardly applauding her. He could only imagine what she saw there in his eyes. And yet she didn't pull away from the raw view. He smirked.

"You like something ya see, Harley?" He smacked his lips and tilted his head, breaking the silence. Her face tightened and she finally broke eye contact. "Please, I just hit you for touching me." She scoffed.

"That was rude, you know. Uncalled for." He waggled a finger.

"You attempted to grope me."

"But it didn't happen."

"Still it was unwanted physical contact. You sexually assaulted me."

He giggled at her accusation. "No-pe. I didn't assault ya…Now, that would be bad."

She shook her head. "I don't care what you call it. It's not allowed!"

"Who says it's not?"

"I do," Harleen slammed her hand on the table that still separated them. "I'm the doctor, you're the patient."

"Oh," the Joker purred, "I love playing doctor."

That was it. She'd had enough of his lewd comments. She pursed her lips and blurted out the first sarcastic remark that came to mind. "Well, too bad for you I left my skimpy nurse outfit at home."

He liked this. She was playing his game. He couldn't lose this. "That's ok, just strip down to your knickers and bra. It's basically the same. It'll all end the same anyhow." She watched his tongue once again wet his lips. He was serious.

'Act calm. He is not suggesting you give him a strip tease or anything beyond that.'

"No, how about you strip first?"

Instantly she regretted that statement. He shrugged, "Alright," and began to pull his gray shirt over his head. What?! She was speechless.

"Best say what you need to now, after this you won't be forming coherent sentences, pet."

She bit her tongue as her mind cranked to figure out a solution. Her heart was pounding. 'Harley, what have you gotten yourself into?' She would not chicken out and run from here. No, she had more pride than that. She could have easily escaped from the situation, but she wouldn't. She wanted to show him how strong Harleen Marie Quinzel could be.

"I don't think we have time for this." She suggested.

From beneath the material of his shirt the Joker smirked. Oh, she was good. She knew the rules and he didn't even have to lay them out. He could see she was feeling the pressure. She had to stop him, knew she did, but how would she do it?

"I'll tell you my life story while I bang you. See, no time wasted at all."

"But I don't know you very well."

The Joker was sans shirt by then. He sighed and shook his head. "Too bad this isn't the seventies anymore, where people could just make love without even knowing the other's name."

Harleen inwardly gulped. "Yeah, too bad, huh?"

Had she not been trying to avoid the situation she would given more thought to the voice in her head that admired the view she was afforded. He wasn't overly-muscular, but not too lanky either. No, he was perfectly male. Silent strength rested in his frame.

"Okay, let's stop this before you take off your pants." She stated and prayed she could get him on another subject and he'd forget all about this. The Joker tilted his head. Calmly reasoning with him? No shaking? No begging for him to stop and not hurt her. He smirked. She was really composed. He _**liked**_ that. Staring uncertainty in the face she stood her ground, and did not show her fear.

"Ok, ok, doc. But I think I deserve equality. An eye for an eye, a shirt…for a _**shirt**_."

She snorted. "How 'bout not? Now, why do you choose to act out in this way, Mr. Joker? Why do you make these jabs at me? You did nothing of the sort with your other doctors."

The Joker calmly walked over to the table, placing his shirt on its top and sitting down. He looked up at her as if bashful. "All my other shrinks have been…male. They never gave me a woman before." He linked his hands together and his voice was sweetly innocent. Harleen wanted to hit herself in the head. She should have known this. But she went along with this as well.

"Never?"

"Nope, but there were a couple questionable ones, if you know what I mean. They were physically male, but, ah…I guess I just turn people gay like that."

Harleen smirked. "Then go solicit them."

The Joker glared at her. "How dare you question my sexuality. I am a woman-loving man. I-"

Harleen held up her hand, "I need no demonstration if that's what you were suggesting. I have no clue why you choose to torment me with this method of conduct. If you do not stop, I will notify my supervisor, and he knows better ways of getting you to cooperate with me."

And the Joker knew she wasn't lying. No, not like the other psychiatrists that made empty threats. She was telling the truth and he saw in the way her voice sharpened, her eyes darkened, her mouth firmed up. She meant it, but he saw too the terms on which she meant it. When he got too much for her to handle she would, but she had pride too. It was a meaningful threat, but it didn't mean she'd necessarily do it. He was very tempted to see just how much pride she had. Maybe he would or maybe being the cooperative patient with little jabs every now and then would be better. He didn't know which one was the course, yet. Fun waited with either decision, however.

Harleen Quinzel was hiding something. And whatever it was, it was like the light of bug zappers. He was the bug that couldn't resist trying to come closer. He sighed happily.

"They chose a smarty for once. I guess you can't be dumb all the time. You're sharp. Do you know what I'm thinking right now Dr. Quinn?"

"That's Dr. Quinzel to you, and I probably do, but I will not repeat it for my ears to hear."

The Joker chortled. "Oh, so vain are we?" He tapped his fingers on the table surface and glanced at his shirt. "I wouldn't have, you know." He stated off-handedly.

There was a total three-sixty. "What?"

He smiled, "I wouldn't have raped you or anything…forced you to bow to my desires—whatever you want to call it. Not my style, first of all. It takes more work than it's worth and the women are so _**un**_cooperative, you see. Besides, there's a camera in here…As much as I like attention, that kind does not sit well with me. I just wanted to experiment if you will. I mean, I'm getting to know you very well through these means. Should I try to figure you out through conventional methods? No, for you'd see that coming. You don't know what to expect when I make my comments…see, I'm just stretching my fingers with you." He wiggled said appendages.

Harleen had no comment for that. So she listened, stored the information, and went to with the next relevant subject that came to mind. "I believe I've read in your file that you were bi-polar. I can very well see that. Massive aggression followed by happiness and then sobriety. You're certainly embracing the chaos the Joker represents. Black and Red, indeed."

Indeed…Her head snapped up and her mouth gaped at that. The Riddler! The second riddle!

Black and red in a suite of two. Joker cards. They're not needed so they're often put to the side. And there are fifty-two cards in a standard deck, the same as the number of weeks in a year. The Riddler meant the Joker.

The Joker watched his doctor's expression become a shocked gape. Okay, this was interesting. She'd not become dazed in three days…not since their first session when she'd raved about the riddle the Riddler had left. He chewed on his cheek, tilted his head and waved his hand before his psychiatrist's face.

"Doc?"

Harleen listened to the Joker and she worked at—Arkham Asylum! He was going to set fire to Arkham Asylum? But you couldn't just set fire to the place it was made of concrete and steel and—explosives! Harleen had figured it out. The Riddler was going to blow up all or part of Arkham Asylum. She leaned more towards a part…It was too soon to pull out all the stops. No, this was a message. A message for Gotham to see their next villain's mind. She had to tell Gordon! She had to-

"DOC!"

She yelped and fell backwards into her seat, her body taut and at attention to the voice that had broke her reverie. The Joker cocked an eyebrow.

"You have a cute squeak." He smiled. Harleen breathed out. Should she say something? It bubbled within her. And really what could he do?

"The Riddler's going to blow up Arkham Asylum to get a message to the city."

There—she'd said it. The Joker leaned forward. "Are they? They're going to need a lot of ammonium nitrate for the job."

"Or a lot of combustible fuel." She muttered and jumped up.

The Joker watched with bated curiosity as she waltzed to the blue intercom button that rested on the wall beside the door, to the left of the red panic button. How many doctors he'd had that used that button within the first week. Maybe he'd roughen her up enough to do it. She was too trusting of him, no…not trusting. She was afraid, but not as afraid as a normal person should be. Was she really unaware of who he truly was? He already knew she hadn't been around for his chaotic jig on Gotham, another reason she was probably hired, but did they make her less-sensitive to him? He'd have to test her further, test her and soon.

"This is Dr. Harleen Quinzel in Room 378, code number 7890-U67."

"Dr. Quinzel, is there a problem?" A voice, masculine replied, though there was a quiver.

Harleen rolled her eyes. Did she sound distressed? "No, there's no problem." To herself she added, 'at least not yet.'

"Well," the voice was more composed, "what can I do for you?"

"Can you check the basement for," she hesitated only a second—there was no way to ask it any other way, "bins of gas?"

The man on the other side of the communication was just as confused as the Joker expected him to be, but his attention was focused on Harleen. He liked watching her work as a counter-force against this Riddler person. He wouldn't admit to it yet, because it could quickly pivot, but there was a slight respect in him for the petite doctor with the steel tongue, sharp mind, and fierce attitude.

"Yes, bins of gas. Or maybe some kind of bomb. I have evidence to believe someone's made a threat against Arkham Asylum."

She walked back to the table and sat down again. She pulled her phone from her pocket just as the sirens that announced an emergency blared throughout the hospital and the Bomb code was announced over the intercom system. Her nimble fingers dialed the number and she held it up to her face.

The Joker leaned back and watched her. There was a restlessness about her, a static charge as she uncharacteristically grinned. For a worker at Arkham, which was placed under a bomb threat, she was rather calm. Fascinating…

"Commissioner Gordon, I know what they're planning. They've made a threat against Arkham Asylum. I hope I'll be able to get there on time to meet with you and Mr. Nashton, right? Thanks, yeah. The place is in lockdown now, yeah, we're the ones that called the bomb squad." She proclaimed proudly. She shut the phone and stared passively at the Joker.

"Our session will be lengthened today apparently. So," she pushed his discarded shirt towards him. "Put this back on, please…I don't see how you're not cold and we'll pick up where I left off. You and your possible condition of bi-polar mania."

"You sure, it's not that you're just uncomfortable with me being half-naked?"

Harleen rolled her eyes, "I've seen better bodies at the beach."

"I'd love to see what you wear to the beach." The Joker smirked.

"I'm not surprised." She commented.

The Joker grabbed his shirt and ran his fingers over the stiff, gray material. "What are you hiding Harleen Quinzel?" He raised an eyebrow, smacked his lips, and moved his head as he spoke.

And for the first time her reply was cryptic, just to make him stop his attempts at analyzing her.

"What do we all hide?"

But she'd never know it was answer he was looking for as he spoke non-discreetly. "Our true selves."

* * *

"She's thirty minutes late," Edward yawned, leaning back in the simple chair Lt. Hawkins had provided for him.

"Poor girl," the man spoke, entering into the room, his gaze endearing, "she's had to stay at Arkham until the Bomb Squad finished. But, she'll be here in about fifteen minutes…I just got a call from her."

Bomb squad? Edward inwardly seethed, but exuded a curious countenance. Had the bitch found him out? Had she solved his second riddle? "Bomb squad?"

Commissioner Gordon nodded, "Yeah, apparently this 'Riddler' was planning an attack on the Asylum in order to broadcast their next message. All I'm wondering is why he chose Arkham? Other than Dr. Quinzel, there's nothing there significant." He turned his inquiring steel stare to Hawkins, "Is Harleen a target? Are they trying to stop her?" He mused.

'Not yet,' Edward thought, clenching his fists discreetly. Harleen had for a second time foiled his fun. He had been one-upped for the first time and it was not sitting well with him.

"I'm not sure, James. The girl's done what? Figured out two of their riddles? That's no cause to believe her a threat yet, though I certainly would see her as one if I was a criminal. She's a firecracker." He grinned.

Edward chuckled, "Is she really that sharp?"

Lt. Hawkins nodded, the smile remaining, "Yes. If she'd been around, she'd have been asked to work on capturing the Joker three years ago."

"That feisty, eh? My kind of woman." Yeah, the infuriating kind that he thought enjoyed scattering his schemes _too_ much. That was definitely his type. Not. But Lt. Hawkins was correct; the girl was no threat yet. Edward straightened his posture, concealing an eye roll.

His plan to set off the barrels of gas he had rigged in the basement of the Asylum was a no go, but there was nothing that could tie him to the crime, personally. The idiotic janitor that set the charges had just received a phone call from his favorite agency—the Falcone crime family. The strings would lead to the mob and then go cold—his puppet cell number. He giggled silently. What you could with the identity of a guy who didn't actually exist. What money could buy…Yet, there was knick in his plan—he still needed to get a message out, especially now.

He stared at both Gordon and Hawkins, but heard nothing but his inner musings. He'd have to drastically change courses—how he hated that—but how?

"So did they find anything?" Edward entered back into the conversation in time to hear Gordon pose the question. "A couple of barrels of gas, rigged with a denotation device, which has been defused. Not enough fuel to cause massive damage, but enough to cause hysteria if it had gone unnoticed."

"I wonder how she did it." Edward shrugged. "I mean, the riddle, was it hard?"

"Not the first part, but the second was a little challenging. Luckily Harleen has a sharp mind."

Edward nodded to Gordon, but bit his tongue against a vomit of hate. 'Harleen, Harleen…She needs to know just who she's dealing with.' His eyes brightened. Tah-duh and an idea had taken root. As soon as he was freed from here he'd start the planning—it'd have to be quick, but thorough. He was going to be up all night, then. Damn it! What was up with that woman? Could she not hold her position? He hated that she'd risen so quickly as a black knight, but he was the white king, still protected and he had the advantage of the first move. Only someone of high intelligence could win a chess game where they were the second to move.

His logic would win over her counter-force. It would. She would not foil this plan, no. It would be too random for her, too sudden. No one would see it coming. Still, he despised having to change tactics so suddenly and randomly. He liked smoothly running plans, ideas that were not foiled by an irritating blonde with a spiked attitude.

"I'm sorry, guys," a feminine voice broke the silence of Edward's mind.

He stared up in intrigue at his prey, his opponent, the one that was becoming more of a threat than Gotham Police, just because she so stubbornly stood in his way, when the easiest route for her would have been submission. He'd show her that. She'd back down very soon, he was sure.

"Dr. Quinzel," He stood up and held out a hand, "You are much lovelier in person." He kissed her hand when she offered it and smirked inwardly at her blush. Women—so easily swayed.

"You must be Edward Nashton." She offered a kind smile and Lt. Hawkins offered her his chair.

"That I am. So you are the famous Doctor, who I just heard solved the Riddler's second riddle."

"Oh," she glanced away humbly, "it was nothing, and I must offer the thanks to my patient, honestly. If I hadn't been analyzing him, I'd have never thought of the answer."

Edward smiled, having taken his seat again, "I see. Well, that is wonderful, I suppose." His eyes narrowed slightly. Humble was she? She seemed very arrogant on the phone the other day. Was this an act? Or was the haughtiness an act? Hmmm…this was an interesting piece to the puzzle. She could possibly be both haughty and humble, however, and thus it wasn't _that_ tantalizing.

"You're the man who created the security system for Wayne Enterprises, right?" She asked, changing the subject; the other was dead anyway. Edward nodded, "Yes, I was very disappointed that some hooligan broke it. I mean, that was a foolhardy system. Encrypted, locked with a password that only an expert hacker could crack."

"Or the man that created it." Harleen offered, but it was non-accusatory. Still Edward did not like it. "Are you purposing I did this and that I am the Riddler?" He sounded incredulous, but tried to keep his anger reasonable. The little-

Harleen shook her head, "No, I am subjective here. I couldn't tell you. Every one, however, is considered a suspect. You because you are the creator of the system, and I am sorry for the invasion, but you would have a motive for breaking into the corporation…Wayne has on several occasions refused your proposal of human-mind research."

"You think that's enough to justify breaking in and killing numerous guards? That's immoral and criminally cruel, Ms. Quinzel, and honestly what would I accomplish with kidnapping an Officer? Or wanting to blow the Asylum up, if it's just Mr. Wayne I'm after?"

"I don't know for sure, I am only researching into possible suspects. Don't be too rattled Mr. Nashton," she kindly smiled, "I'm just covering all my bases. Mr. Wayne is a suspect as well. As I've said everyone is. You are just very intelligent, sir. And there has been a saying that with intelligence always follows an inherent strangeness." She laughed lightly. "Would you mind having a taped interview with an officer about your whereabouts over the last week, maybe a longer time period?"

Edward shook his head. "No, not at all."

"Then, thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Nashton." She held out her hand and he shook it firmly. She turned to Gordon. "I have what I needed, do you?"

"Yes, I have the plans right here from the system. Our research team shall tackle it immediately."

Harleen smiled and bowed to the room. "Then, I must be going. Nice to meet you, Mr. Nashton."

"You as well, Harley."

Harleen paused and gave a pensive smile. "I'd rather you call me Harleen, if you don't mind. I, uh, only allow my close friends to call me Harley." It was a lie, a well-told one, for Edward did not catch it. She'd only said it because she did not like the way he said her name, it was too eerie and the way his eyes seemed to brighten unusually at it caused her a double-take. She shook her head and left without another word. Mentally she noted the strange action Mr. Nashton had exhibited.

* * *

**_Just a quick disclaimer, the 70s comment is not meant to offend in anyway. It was comedy relief, a joke. I just thought I should add that just be safe. Enjoy and I'll hopefully have the next update up by the end of the month. Thanks!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"_**He had told me I bet unwisely, but at the end of the day I was the one left with the first jackpot, and from then on I knew the game was going to change drastically."**_

* * *

He was not pleased. Not pleased at all. Had he been too much for the little doctor yesterday? He'd told her the truth—he wasn't a rapist, maybe a _little_ homicidal, but not a rapist. It was truly more trouble than it was worth. But irritating Harleen, surprising her, now that was something that was worth his time; he'd get to know what saucy Dr. Quinzel was hiding. He had a feeling it was very, he giggled, appetizing.

He grunted and wiggled his wrists, which were hand-cuffed along with his ankles. She had acted far more quickly than he'd expected, and oh how he loved people that could surprise him. Despite the reasons behind it, just the fact she had him handcuffed again enthralled him. Dr. Harleen Quinzel, the bombshell jester of his darkest dreams, or rather fantasies. He was a man, and Harleen was a very, well, attractive, no…fascinatingly desirable woman. She wasn't trying to be, but she was his seductive drug, and he craved her.

He sucked on his cheeks as his eyes trailed upwards to the clock in the far-side of the room. It was about time for her appearance. He smirked, such a little woman, and yet already he saw a huge potential for her mind. If only she thought like him, but maybe that was the kicker.

He leaned back and laughed unbridled. He could see it in her eyes, her posture. Chaos, it licked at her edges. She just hadn't fully embraced it yet. She was so lovely just dabbling in it, what would she be like if she took it for all it was worth?

The idea was both delicious and terrifying—a perfect combination for the Joker. He rocked in his seat, wondering how to greet his shrink today. He wouldn't be able to hug her like yesterday. He frowned a slightly, he didn't like repeat performances anyway. Too bad he couldn't shock her by taking off his shirt; no one said they couldn't begin where he left off yesterday. He licked his lips in disappointment. So what could he do?

Resigned he shrugged. He'd just go with the flow. Now all he had to do was wait for the petite blonde. He closed his eyes after one last glance to the clock, waiting for the sound of the door opening.

The consultation rooms were mostly sound-proof, but if there was one sound the Joker could make out, muffled extremely or not, it was gunfire and a plethora of screams. His eyes shot open, but they shined not with confusion, but thrill. He leaned forward and he felt his arms strain with his movement. He tried to peer out the small window of the door.

It was clear for a moment, but in the afternoon light sudden shadows were cast when someone blocked it. He heard the twitter of the keypad and then the door swung open.

"What the hell?!" A gruff voice exclaimed and three masked people entered into the room.

One man and two women composed the intruders. The Joker's eyes first fell on the man, the leader it appeared. The male in question pulled his mask off with the hand that didn't hold a gun and threw it on the floor. He turned to the two women.

"She's not here!"

The Joker merely watched them. His next object of attention was the first woman. She was a tall, red-head, wearing a mask that resembled the Tragedy of theatre. She shrugged at the man.

The other woman was also a red-head—shorter hair—and she was half a head shorter than her comrade even with the brown stiletto heeled boots she wore. She wore the partner mask of the first woman—comedy. His eyes brightened at the sight of her and he licked his lips. He recognized her stature and her body frame. She also shrugged her shoulders, but let out a small laugh, stuffing her gun in the belt of her dark cargo jeans.

"Huh, will ya look at that, she ain't." Her voice was high and a little irritating—bubbly blonde was the first thing the Joker thought.

She turned her sapphire gaze to the Joker, "But look at this. It's her patient." She walked forward and stood across from him. "You seen your pretty little doctor?"

"Giggles, I ask the questions, not you." The man stated pushing her slightly in frustration.

'_Giggles?'_

She gave a slight, indignant huff, but held up her hands. "Well, boss you weren't takin' any _**in**_itiative."

"She's right," the Joker smirked at her and turned his stare into the man's almond eyes. "And that's cold, even to a guy like me, pushing a little chit like her."

"Shut up, clown. Dr. Quinzel, have you seen her?"

The Joker smacked his lips. "Depends. What do you want with her?"

The man opened his mouth, but the Joker shook his head. "I won't talk to you, you're rude. Although," he turned his stare to the short red-head, "for you, I may be a little more loose-lipped."

The girl giggled again and turned to the other woman in the room. That's when the Joker noticed the tattoo she had on her upper, right forearm revealed by the sleeve-less state of her gray tank-top. The three black diamonds seemed to form a sort of arrow design.

The taller woman snorted. "You always attract freaks, Giggles."

"Giggles? Is that your real name?" The girl turned back to the Joker and shook her head.

"Of course not, Mistah J, but I have a life to return ta, so ya understand." The Joker nodded, a conceding expression on his face.

"Stop flirting! Get on with what you're supposed to be doing!"

"Fine, geez, is it impossible for ya to say please, huh?" She rolled her blue eyes.

"Mistah J, have ya seen your doc today?"

"Nope, can't say I have."

"You tellin' the truth, you freak?!"

"Ah, ah, ah," Giggles shook her head. "Sit down boss, take a breather, you've done enough. He said he ain't talking to ya, so it'd best for the plan if ya did as asked. I'm sure the Riddler would like that _this_ one go without a hitch."

The man ran a hand through his short, black hair. "Yeah, he'd like that. That bitch's really been a pain in the ass." He walked up to the chair that would have been Harleen's and sat down. He deposited his gun on the tabletop. "At least he's restrained. What? Your doctor don't trust you enough to go un-cuffed?"

The Joker licked his lips, "I guess I was too hot for her yesterday, besides the experience is better this way. Tomorrow I get to cuff her to the chair."

The man seemed disgusted, but Giggles sighed, "Ah, sounds like my kinda relationship."

"If I was unrestrained, I'd show _you_ a good time babe, trust me."

"With them watching?"

"They could leave." He winked and Giggles lived up to her name once again.

"Oh my god," the man sighed, "how did I get stuck with you?" He pointed to Giggles and placed his head in hands and shook his head. "What are you, on crack?"

"You snorted again?!" the taller woman exclaimed. "Oh shut it, Red, let a girl have some fun every once and while."

"That's why we're doing this aren't we? So you can get more crack money!"

Giggles turned around and using her arms lifted herself onto the table, her legs dangling over the edge. "Actually, no. I wanted to have some fun and perhaps maybe the money could buy me those shoes I've been eying."

Red, who had tensed, eased. "You got to get-"

"I was joking, I'm clean. Have a sense of humor."

"This is a bomb!" The leader proclaimed. "The Riddler is going to be pissed. And trust me, he ain't killed yet, but he is one scary son of bitch when he gets angry."

"Sounds a little wacko to me." Giggles stated off-handedly.

"You aren't helping! I get stuck with you. Now, Red is fine, but you're annoying."

"Well, Mr. Grumpy…" She crossed her arms. "If I had any choice in this matter, I wouldn't have worked with ya either. There, be happy with that."

With her tone of voice the Joker could imagine her sticking out her tongue in rebellion. He snickered.

"What's so funny? I see nothing amusing in your situation. You know you use to be big, and then the Bat caught ya."

"Oh, you're scary," the Joker laughed at the man, "I highly doubt your ego'd be so big if I wasn't hand-cuffed."

"Yeah, right." The man rolled his eyes and turned to Red. "Where is that abominable doctor?"

"Sorry, boss, I'm no wiser to the situation than you."

"Well, this blows."

"Red, why don't ya give him a massage, or something. That'll calm him down. Maybe then I won't have to hear his irritatin' voice."

"Why you little-" The man exclaimed and looked as if he was about to pounce, but was interrupted by a loud belch.

"Sorry," the Joker twittered, "meant to puke there."

"Just ignore her, Boss," Red sighed and walked behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and kneaded them. "Would you stop being irritating, Giggles? You're the one that talked me into this."

"Whatever," the girl huffed, "you know, if that doctor was in her right mind she would have high-tailed it outta here."

"Yeah," chuckled the man, closing his eyes at the pleasure he felt as the muscles in his shoulders were eased. "I agree with ya there. In fact, why are we waiting in this room for her?" But he didn't seem quite ready to stand up to leave.

Giggles turned her gaze downward and slowly pulled the man's gun off the table and clicked the safety off. The man heard the distinct click and his eyes shot open.

"Giggles-"

"Don't move boss, it'd be a pity to have make a mess. Pam, tie him up." She had the gun pointed at his forehead.

The woman behind him pulled off her mask, revealing high cheek bones and blazing emerald eyes. A brush of freckles enhanced her look. She smirked brazenly down at the man before ducking behind him. There was the sound of a zipper and a rope was tied about his wrists after she pulled them through the arms of the chair.

"What are you doing?" He gulped, but did not move.

"Not so brave, now, huh? It's just a gun." The Joker offered, laughing. He stared at Giggles and licked his lips. He was really liking this—it was like dynamite, ticking away. He wondered when the explosion would happen.

The man was speechless as he stared into the black barrel of the pistol. Pam straightened up.

"Thanks, Pam." Giggles said, though her voice had lost his annoying edge.

"Don't mention it. The mob owed me some favors anyway."

"Remind me never to ask…"

The man stared up at Giggles. "Who are you?"

Using her free hand, she pulled on her crimson hair and it came off, revealing a blonde mop beneath it. She shook her head and threw the wig away and then removed her mask, revealing a dainty face with shocking blue eyes beneath.

The Joker laughed. Yep, he had known it. The explosion had arrived. He was really enjoying this.

"The name's Harleen Quinzel, I believe you were meant to take me hostage today? Get a message across that I was messing with someone out of my league? That the job, _puddin_'?" She smirked down at him.

The Joker whistled, "Mmm, feisty and dangerous, where have you been all my life, doc?"

Harleen cocked an eyebrow at him, "Trying to avoid you."

"I do love your playing hard-to-get."

She snorted at that and turned to the man she was currently holding hostage. "My, my…how the tables have turned. So tell me what you know about the Riddler."

"How did you do this?! How did you know about the job?"

Harley pulled the gun away and tapped her chin with it. "Ya see, there's one thing your leader failed to calculate…the fact that I'm not a hermit. I have friends…friends with connections in the mob." She glanced at Pam. "She told me everything after Sal Maroni told her."

"She one of his whores?"

Harley laughed openly in amusement. It was the first time the Joker had heard the sound. It tittered on the edge of demented, but kept sane, a trait that made it all the more eerier. "Pam are you a whore?"

"Yeah, about as much as you're a prison inmate. My father is a businessman working with the Falcone crime family. I'm not very involved with them, honestly. Greedy bastards, but I saved their hide at some point in their life and they owe me, so when they found out that this Riddler guy was threatening a friend of mine, they called me up."

"How'd you do this? This was done too quickly!"

"Now that's a secret, but I'll give you hint. Since the mob gave the Riddler men they also removed two of them, namely the two that were supposed to be your true partners…and we stood in. We got all pretty to cause a stir." Harley grinned. "Why, ya don't like that the plan didn't go, uh, _according_ ta plan?"

The man scowled, his bravery apparently returned without the gun pointed at his head. He began to rock in his chair violently. Pam stood across the room, with her arms crossed watching him with amusement.

"Awww, poor you. You're powerless against me."

"You think." He bit out and the hit was sudden. He had freed himself and his fist connected with the side of Harley's face.

He stood up, expecting her to screech, but she growled. She clutched the side of her face, her eyes dark. Pam made a move to restrain him again, but he jumped back and made a run for the door. Harley quickly let go of her face.

Three shots were fired and the man screamed, falling to the ground. Harley lowered the gun, now smoking in her hands. She tilted her head. "I know." She commented and slid off the table. She waltzed over to the man.

"Oh, c'mon, I just shot ya in the leg. It hurts more than it's injured. But, ya see, what you made me do? If someone," she leaned down and tapped him on head, "would have been more _**co**_operative, they wouldn't have gotten hurt." She sighed, "But of course, you won't listen." She stood up back up and emptied the gun she had used.

"Now to get the rest of this done." She smiled to herself and reached into the top of her tank-top. She pulled her cell-phone from her bra. "Where no one would think to look." She muttered and flipped it open.

"You got anything else in there?" The Joker licked his lips.

"No." Was her clipped reply. She dialed the number.

"This is Harleen Quinzel," her voice sounded distressed, "I'm at Arkham Asylum and-"

Pam shot off her gun a few times--aiming at the ceiling. Harleen screamed and jolted across the room to stand beside the door. "Oh my god! There are guys here with guns. They're holding people hostage. I'm able to get out, but I have friends in there. Please, help them! Please!"

She smirked at the guy on the floor who was gritting his teeth. "Oh, okay…okay," she took a cleansing breath and seemed to calm slightly. "Thank you, oh please…I don't know what they want." She hung up and walked back to the man. "You gonna tell me what you know about the Riddler?"

"Listen lady, I don't know nothing. He just calls with a job and we do it." Harleen glared down at him. "You have his number?"

"You aren't getting it." Harleen cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not? What would you like to lose next? You're other leg? Your arm? Your," she pointed to his groin. He shook his head, she nodded.

"Yeah, yeah." She reached her hand out for Pam's gun, now sorry that she'd emptied her own. "OKAY! OKAY!"

"Good, you see, following orders is just so much easier."

She continued to point the gun at him as he fumbled through his pocket, pulled out his phone, and threw it to her. She ran through the numbers and grinned.

"Awww, 'Boss'…is that him? Cute that you actually put that."

"Yes!"

"Pam, come over here and make sure he doesn't move maliciously. If he does get rid of the rest of his limbs" She giggled and hit the Call button.

She walked back over to the table, turned the phone on speaker and set it down.

"Davis! What the hell is taking you so long?! You should be on your way here now with the girl!" Once again it was that mechanical voice, but Harleen smirked.

"Davis? So…that's his name. Evenin', Riddler."

"Harleen?"

"Yes, this is Harley Quinn speaking. Guess what I did?" She sing-songed the last part.

"You little—what have you done?"

"She just shot your Davis-guy in the leg, bub." The Joker declared excitedly. "Never seen a quicker draw in my life. Harley's got some skills."

"You shot him?"

"Oh, don't get your balls in a knot, I didn't kill him…there'd have been no fun in that…and the mess. No, don't a choice. But I turned the tables. You might be holding all of Arkham hostage, but you haven't gotten me. I took your little plan, Riddler, and I turned it on its head. You are a schemer, you have plans, and I'm just working to show you that its useless. I'll beat you every single time, you try and act. I'll give you props though…you must have been up all night trying to get me. Funny thing, with just an hour's worth of planning and discussion on the way here, I foiled you _again_. I believe that makes me a bishop now…and I'm about to take away all your knights…The police are on their way as we speak."

"Why can't you stay where you are? Why can't you submit like a good little girl?"

"Me?" She laughed, "I'm just having fun and trying to stop you. You offer that, ya know. You give me plans that I can turn upside-down. You're trying to take this city, for what purpose I don't know yet, but I will. I'll map your mind you, you…You narcissistic, bi-polar, scheming, arrogant bastard. You've challenged the wrong criminal psychiatrist, Mr. Riddler…I fight your plans with a randomness that rocks dynamic systems."

"You mean?"

Her eyes swept to the Joker, "Yes," she purred, "I mean chaos. I'm an Agent of Chaos. Surprise, surprise. You ever met a _legal_ practitioner of the art? If not consider me your first. That's why I'm so annoying to you, but, uh, I'm also intriguing aren't I? You can't figure me out because I'm your anti-force. Who's gonna win? _I'm _serious about playing; are you? Stump me, Riddler, stump me good if you can. Goodbye…I got a hostage to gag, a note to leave. I've not finished my destruction of your plan just yet."

The Joker couldn't help the glint in his eyes at that. And the way that she had stared at him as if she was revealing a delicious secret. It was pure elation, pure pleasure. An Agent of Chaos…

She flipped the phone off just as the Riddler screeched loudly and she slid it across the floor, back to Davis. "Now to tie you up. Pam, you tied his hands too loosely before. I think more promising methods are in order."

"Sorry about that." Pamela replied.

Harley snickered and pulled a pair of hand-cuffs from her side.

"Dang you'll have to buy another pair now to cuff your numerous and exciting lovers. I'm sorry."

Pam grabbed Davis's hands. The man was being very cooperative now, even without the gun brandished at him. "Pfft, yeah but that leaves you with yours still. Now you can cuff the Joker whenever your pretty little head wants to."

Harleen sputtered. "You! Eww no!"

The Joker chuckled. "Are they fuzzy and pink? And am I going to get to cuff you after your turn?"

Harley clenched her fists. "Pam, that's not funny. I don't have handcuffs, and especially not _fuzzy pink_ ones. And no, you'll _never_ get to cuff me because I have no want to do that to you."

"Then, uh, doc, what's this?" He looked down at his wrists. Harley sighed and Pam stood up clapping her hands.

"Well, I didn't want you ruining what I was going to do. It was in the best interest of all involved if you were restrained. It was sudden call I made, fifteen minutes before I even left the house this morning." She wiped at her brow and winced. "I have a black-eye don't I?"

"No," Pam clucked and walked over to Harley. "But that's a nice bruise, reminds me of when we were in high school."

Harleen grinned, but it was pained. "Good times…good times." She looked around the room and saw her wig. "Well, Pam, we'd best get out of here, you have a class to teach and I, well, I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but something."

She leaned over to get the fake hair piece and her gray tank-top rode up slightly revealing another tattoo on the small of her back—a portion of it at least.

"Ohhh, what's that?" The Joker asked. Harley turned back to look at him and her eyes narrowed. "If you're-"

He smacked his lips. "I wasn't making some comment about your hind-quarters Ms. Quinzel," he said loftily, "but since you brought it up…Nice ass, I like it." His voice was dark. "Anyway, I was talking about your lovely little back art…I saw the design on your arm. Simple, yet unexpected. You never took me for one with a passion for tattoos, not that I don't like 'em. What's that on your back?"

Pam snickered. "A testament to you."

His mouth quirked. "Me? You a fan? And all this time you deny me. Harley-"

"It was a dare," she said standing up and pulling her shirt down deliberately. "I was drunk and Pam, over there dared me to get a Joker card—your signature one in fact—tattooed on my back with the words 'Agent of Chaos' embroidered in it. Long story short, I did it."

"I want to see it next time you're here, I want to see it closer. You owe me for not ratting you out."

"So you did know it was me. I figured as much, the way you acted…It was a giveaway."

The Joker grinned wolfishly, "If only you'd truly return my words like that. I enjoyed the show, too bad I couldn't have participated. So you're an Agent of Chaos?"

"Apparently so," she shrugged as if it was nothing big. "Sure made the Riddler piss his pants. Poor baby." She chuckled lowly.

Pam placed the gun in her green tank-top. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," she nodded and turned to Davis, "now you be good, I better not hear you gave anyone any more trouble."

She replaced her wig and mask as Pam did so as well and the two left the room. They were questioned no further as they claimed the Riddler was requesting they report to him. They both smirked beneath their deceiving disguises at the stupidity of the thugs and they escaped out onto the highway just as the police swarmed the building and the hostage situation ended with only one injury—Davis's gunshot wounds in the leg.

* * *

"Did you get that in the situation yesterday?"

Harleen glanced over at the secretary as she entered the building. She blushed lightly when she realized the woman was talking about her bruise, "Yeah, it still hurts too. But, at least it wasn't any worse."

"I hear that, I wonder what those men wanted." Harleen shook her head, although she knew quite well and had a discussion with Gordon not long after the building had been secured. "I don't know, but I bet the police are handling it. You're lucky you were off."

"Are you here to meet with the Joker? You're coming in later than usual."

"Yeah, I had a prior engagement earlier today, so I had to reschedule…at least that isn't a hard task to do with my patient." She smiled and took the slip of paper with the code on it. With a nod of thanks she left.

"I'd almost thought you forgot about me, doc."

Harleen shook her head at the Joker who was sitting placidly at the table, "No, I just had something to do earlier today. Having to answer questions and analyze criminals from yesterday is a hard task. But I'll not go back on my word to Mr. Arkham; I told him I'd take the Joker case so here I am."

"Then we have something in common, Dr. Quinn. We are both people of our words."

Well, this was strange; he'd not made a move at her yet. She sat down and stared at him a moment. "People of our words, huh? I seem to recall that you won't tell the truth about the origins of your scars. That doesn't sound like keeping your word to me."

"I could tell the truth, but where would be the fun in that? Besides keeping my word and telling the truth _are_ two different things. So, did you have fun yesterday? You sure seemed to."

Harleen cocked an eyebrow, "If by having fun you mean ruining whatever the hell the Riddler was planning, than yes, it was blast, but the guy punching me in the face was not a lovely experience at all. Not at all."

The Joker smirked, "Yeah that does look like a nasty bruise. It hurt? You want me to kiss it and make it better?" He reached up, but Harleen smack his hand away. This was more like it. "Yes, it does…and no."

"What kind of guy hits a girl, especially one as little as you, in the face? That's rude, even to a guy like me."

"You wouldn't hit a girl?"

"Well, I wouldn't hit _you_. If you tied me up I wouldn't mind. And besides, you're not the one that tied him up." Harleen grunted in slight amusement, "I bet you'd love for me to tie you up, and while I'm at it do you have a request for the lingerie I should wear while I do it?"

"Who says you'd be wearing anything?"

Harleen shut her eyes for a moment and nodded, "Of course, should have known." Her voice was flat.

"When did you decide that matching my quips would help," the Joker asked, leaning on his hand, eyes alight, "because it _doesn't_." "Who says they're not, I happen to find myself better able to deal with the random, yet expected comments that fly from your mouth."

"And I find myself enjoying your company even more. I love it when you talk dirty with me." He waggled his eyebrows and his tongue swept along his lips.

"Do you need lip balm or something? You're always licking your lips." That action had caught her attention before, but she'd always lost grasp on the comment before it could be expressed.

"You seem very fixated on my tongue, Harley. Would like me to put it to another use?" He leaned forward and she instinctive leaned back, holding her chin up defiantly. "That's _Dr._ Harley to you." The Joker gave a musical sigh and returned to his original position. "I'm good, doc, my lips are fine. Thanks for the concern, though."

"I'm surprised they aren't chapped then."

"They aren't. They're very soft actually; you can touch them if you want." He puckered and Harleen shook her head, laughing. "I'll take your word for it, Mr. Joker."

"Is it the scars?" He asked, a quirk in his lips.

"No, really those aren't horrifying to see. I would think the pain was tremendous, but I've seen worse injuries in medical school."

"They, uh, don't bother you?"

Harleen shook her head again. "No. They're scarier with the make-up. That's why you wear it don't you. It's not to hide the scars, like those other doctors have proposed; it's to enhance them, isn't it? It really is like war-paint to scare people."

"Why do you have tattoos?" He didn't answer her question. She'd already answered it herself. Harleen shrugged, "The first I did as a rebellion to my parents when I was eighteen. The second I told you was a dare." She told him the honest answer because there was no reason she saw not to. What was the harm in it?

"Speaking of your lovely body paintings, I want to see the one on your back closer up. I think you owe me for yesterday. I was good."

Harleen nodded, He had behaved himself. "Okay," she was relieved that he had asked for something so simple. She removed her ivory lab coat, determined to allow him a quick look before turning back around. She didn't trust him _that_ much. She turned around and began to lift the hem of her powder blue, blouse.

The Joker stealthily stood up after making sure he wouldn't have to scoot his chair back. He leaned over the table and watched as her lower back was revealed. He sucked on his scars as he examined the tattoo.

"It hurt?" He took in the intricate design that made up a replica of his signature card. And the black letters of the phrase "Agent of Chaos" were splendid. It was, for lack of better wording, utterly beautiful.

"Worse than the diamonds on my arms."

She stiffened when she felt one of his warm hands tracing the card. She tightened her body to turn around and smack his hand when the other came around her waist.

She squealed in surprise and fright when she was pulled backwards roughly. She was drawn over the table and against his chest. His other arm was then thrown across her own and held her even tighter against him. He chuckled softly and lightly patted the side of her head.

"You shouldn't have, uh, _turned_ your back on me, Doc."

She frantically flailed against him, trying to get free. "Obviously!" Her voice was sarcastic.

He tightened his grip on her, "Such a fighter, and such a string-less puppet. Look what you've gotten yourself into. You shouldn't have trusted me. Didn't they warn you against my _personality_?"

"Of course."

"Then why, my little Harley Quinn, didn't you listen?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She didn't know, but like hell she was going to show how humiliated the situation was making her feel. Where had she gone wrong? Why had she even put an ounce of trust in him? Was it because he was civilized yesterday? That he had done nothing more than attempt to molest her previously? Had she been so easily deceived? She bit her lips and her eyes blazed.

"Well, you gonna to answer me?"

She gave a defiant grunt and kicked her legs, attempting, she supposed to gain some type of leverage on the table. She pulled her upper body forward as well, or at least attempted to do so. He laughed at her fruitless efforts. She felt the vibrations of his chest behind her and that struck an idea. She was able to limitedly move her arms, but it was enough. She jammed her elbow into his chest.

The Joker winced; he had expected some resistance, but hadn't expected her to be this good. He instinctually loosened his grip, a little proud of her and that's when she acted even more unexpectedly. Any of his previous psychiatrists would have tried to then escape his grip and make it to the panic-button.

Harley instead wedged herself sideways, in doing so letting up her offensive tactic. This confused him, but with confusion came irrefutable intrigue. What was she doing? He tightened his grip again, unintentionally helping her progress in her plan as she turned to face him, her legs ending up dangling on either side of his hips.

Now doctor and patient—captive and captor—were face-to-face. He stared down at her, into the dark glare of her eyes. He'd never seen her that angry. For Harleen, embarrassment at one's own folly brings out an unmatchable ire.

"I swear," she said vehemently, "if you don't let me go right now, I will tear into your jugular with my bare teeth."

He blinked and then smiled widely. There was an indescribable swelling in his chest. "I think- I think, I love you for that," his tone came off joking, but in his mind, he was anything but. He released her, surprising her, but quickly cupped her face in his hands—careful of her bruise—and leaned forward. Without further ado he kissed her soundly on the lips long enough to be more than chaste, but over swiftly enough to rob her of time to react.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, adrenaline rushing through her being. She blinked, but finally forced words to form. "You've got some nerve."

He was still close to her, "I have nerve? And what about you? You fight and threaten me; a man they say has no empathy for anyone. You don't call that nerve?" He leaned forward again and stared into her eyes, noticing with glee that she didn't even attempt to move away. Her fury may have had a role to play in that as she stared back at him coldly.

"Get away from me," her voice was drenched in burning coals. It sent a pleasant shiver down the Joker's spine.

"Why," he purred in her ear, all giddy joking gone from his voice, "I love it when you're rough. It makes my blood boil." He brought his arms up and wrapped them around her waist and buried his nose in her neck.

Harleen's face flushed. In the back of her mind a hazy voice kept pleasant commentary, 'You've never been so doted on by any guy. No one's ever gotten this close, this affectionate.' Then the other voice, the real Harleen—or so it professed to be, 'He's touching you! A mad man, a liar, a murderer…if a guard walks by…should fight back…'

"Harley, Harley, Harley." She felt the movement of his lips against her skin, the scrape of stubble and the irregularity of the raised skin of his scars. 'Push him away!' The proper voice entreated. He inhaled. She bit her lip and clenched her fists. Lust, lust for the bad boy, that's all this was. She was a doctor and this was inappropriate! This was her patient and beyond that the Joker! He was manipulating her, all for some twisted enjoyment. He couldn't feel. He didn't really like her. He—he ran his nose a little further up her neck.

She was Harleen Quinzel; she was not some girl that would be turned to putty by wiles. She hoped he didn't hear her shaky breath, but she had to compose herself. All he was doing was breathing on her and that was nothing, at least to Harleen as she worked to stuff away the butterflies it caused her. This wasn't making any sense! She didn't like him! She despised him and his incessant attempts to fluster her (they were working now!) and all the degrading phrases he had said to her. He was pig! A scar-faced, childish, intelligent pig! And yet with each moment she didn't fight him back, she wondered what it caused him to think.

"Get away from me! Stop this!" Suddenly she was struggling again, trying to extricate herself from his embrace. She continued to thrash even as she cringed at how distressed her voice sounded—it gave away her conflicted mind, it was a dead giveaway. The pleasant voice was reprimanding her. What if he simply stopped? Her gut clenched. Did she want him to play just as rough, fight her, and find her out? Find out what? She wanted out, she didn't want his affections! Why would she? What did the Joker have that she wanted?

"Aw, c'mon, babe. The guards won't be coming for at least another ten minutes. And only sooner if you scream…" Boldly—when was he anything less—he licked the tender flesh along her jaw line and she shivered against it. She then redoubled her struggle. "If," she began, finding composure in her voice once more, "I were to let you win this easily where would the standards go for our next encounters?"

The Joker smirked, "Are you implying you're wanting to let me win, Harley?" He placed a small kiss at the curve of her jaw, near her ear. It was tender, as if he was trying to soothe her. She winced against the flutter in her stomach and punched his chest, hard. "You are so vain!" She pushed herself as far away as she could. She was a gymnast, how the hell was he this strong?! She barely gained an inch. 'You've met your match, you shouldn't complain. Doesn't he make you feel good?' There was the deceptive voice again. She gritted her teeth. Her human lusts would not win her over. She knew what was right and justified and this was not it.

"You're not going to take advantage of me! You're my patient, nothing more! I will not go against protocol just for your enjoyment." She felt her voice rise. "I don't even vaguely like you, you freak!" For the first time in her life she was helpless, but it was in that moment her pride and anger lashed out. But it was all for naught, somewhere something whispered denial, told her that this moment with the Joker was both exhilarating and extremely frightening. She thrashed like a caged animal, she had to get away; she just had to.

With a chuckle he let her go. She had called him a freak, but unlike most that had done little to anger him. It was actually endearing. Harleen Quinzel was hiding behind rules, rules that if she just broke she could be free. Freedom with him, he liked the sound of that. And he saw she wanted to let go; sure the hints were subtle and few, but they were sufficient enough.

Harleen hadn't seen the action coming at all, and she landed on her butt as her support drew back and force caused her to lose her balance on the table. She glared up at him and swiftly rose to her feet, dusting herself off.

"You're right, doc, shouldn't rush things. If I gave it all up now, what would keep you coming back for more?" He smiled innocently and straightened his shirt. He sat back down calmly and stared at her with, was that smugness?

He saw her face color in anger. 'Let it out,' he mentally whispered, 'show me the extent of your chaos.' He didn't question the zeal he gained in seducing her and the want he had of her returning the teasing, oh if only she did…He was an agent of chaos and he went with the flow. He wasn't thinking of consequences, just the moment. He would enjoy this, even as gut told him something was different with this lust, something major. Chaos, he'd take it, enjoy it, and not care.

She was devastatingly beautiful. He knew she had every potential to be Eris's protégé, and he wanted her for his own. Her mouth was pursed as she composed herself and fixed her ruffled clothing. Her baby blues bore into him. They were chilling, but he met them placidly with a small smile.

Some scathing remark built up in her lungs and she placed her hands on her hips as she opened her mouth. The Joker smirked, here it came, the grand mal.

Darkness; the lights went off, and the whole Asylum went eerily silent. The Joker stared at the place Harleen stood, but heard nothing that denoted fright or distress. She was good, but any further thoughts were interrupted by the sound of air passing through the door to the room. He heard Harley move slightly and inhale. Of course, someone stalking the dark would frighten her.

The lights came back on and there _he_ stood. The Joker broke into a wide grin.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"_**I would remember the night I met him in person, the last player that would enter into the game…and I would never forget how all I could think about afterwards was not this new knight, but the jester of the court whose lips I secretly wished to taste again."**_

* * *

"Well, if it isn't Gotham's own Dark Knight! You miss me, Batsy?"

He was dressed in all black, his brown eyes standing out stridently from the cowl he wore. He gave a quick glance to the Joker, but all his attention was for the woman who stood before him. Her hands were curved and her body stiff as if prepared for some assault. So this was Harleen Quinzel? Edgy energy seemed to flicker about her.

"Dr. Quinzel," his voice was its raspy tenor, the octave that belied of his real identity. He didn't attempt any further movement only observed her.

He could see surprise embrace her face, followed by confusion, and then she seemed to relax slightly. When she turned to face him more fully, instead of staring at him at an angle over her shoulder, there was still a small puzzlement on her face.

"Batman?"

It was clear she had no idea how to react to this situation, but she wanted the awkwardness gone. She glanced at the Joker, and although he had the impression she knew he wasn't here for the man, asked anyway.

"You want to see him?" Perhaps it was to further dispel the awkward uncertainty of this abrupt situation. He applauded her attempt at composure, but he could see that she was shaken just slightly. Anxiety clung to her like static upon newly dried clothes, unseen, but felt at just a touch.

"No, I've come to speak with you."

Harleen nodded to him and took a breath, closing those bright eyes of hers for a moment. She gestured to the seat across from the Joker, who to Batman's intrigue only stared at him in smug expectation. The man was unrestrained and with a look at the condition of Harleen, rather civilized. The woman was no worse for wear, though in her mind she wanted to laugh at that the passing glance. The man had no idea.

"I'd rather stand." Harleen nodded. "Then you won't mind me taking it instead." She grabbed the seat and pulling it back slightly sat down. "I know why you're here, and," she took another breath, "I'm not surprised. Commissioner Gordon contacted you didn't he?"

"He hunts me. I have my own ways of figuring out the newest outbreak of delinquency."

"That's a sorry lie, Bats," the Joker accused, "you can tell Dr. Quinzel the truth, she's rather nonjudgmental that way. You know the truth; I know the truth…why can't you reveal it to the rest of Gotham?"

Harleen stifled the voice that wanted to bubble from her and ask what was being spoken of. The Joker must have noticed this as he gave her a gentle smile. "Maybe one day, when I think you'll appreciate it more I'll tell ya, bu_**t**_," he annunciated, "today's not that day, or should I say night."

"You're here about the Riddler, aren't you?" Harleen asked, ignoring the Joker.

"What do you know about him?"

"Where would you like me to start?" Harleen asked without further pause and her eyes trailed over to the Joker, who to her amazement was listening intently to her words as if they were the ultimate truth. Batman crossed his arms, his posture alert. Harleen understood; Gotham's dark guardian trusted the Joker about as far as he could throw him.

"Start from the beginning, Dr. Quinzel."

"I was contacted about a week ago by Commissioner Gordon. Gotham Police department had received a letter the week prior from some unknown source, which after reading the document they shunned as a joke. However, soon after Wayne Enterprises was robbed and a fair number of his security staff shot. That's where the second letter, from the same author as the first was discovered. You know all of this, though, don't you?"

"It gives us a place to start, continue." Batman nodded.

Harleen linked her hands together, "I've read the letters this guy sends. He's very precise, perfect. His letters are typed, not written and signed with a stamp that never shifts. He's in other words compulsive, Obsessive-Compulsive. He's also intelligent, he's a hacker, and I now have no doubt about that. He's the one who overrode the security layout of Mr. Wayne's business."

"Why do you think the Riddler himself was the culprit?"

Harleen smirked and her voice took on a mocking tone, but Batman could see it was not directed at him. "Because that guy does all the neat, clean stuff in his operations. He plans them deeply; sets up the stage, but his pawns are the ones who do all the dirty work. They were the ones who killed those security guards. And if he had gotten to harm Lt. Hawkins when he kidnapped him his lackeys would have been the abusers, and they were the ones who took Arkham hostage and punched me in the face."

"You, uh, weren't thinking I did that, right?" The Joker chose this time to interrupt. He had seen the flitting shock that crossed through Batman's face. He grinned. "Oh, Batman, you ever see me actually hit a girl? Okay, so I threw your little bunny out a window, honestly though, she has nothing on my doc here." The Joker paused in his expressive gesturing. He licked his lips for the umpteen time that day, giving an obvious glance to Harleen who pointedly ignored him. "I mean, I wouldn't hit her. She's beautiful and feisty, and honestly, Bats, I think I'm in love." He sighed happily.

"I think I'm going to hurl," Harleen muttered.

The Joker laughed. "See, she just speaks her mind. You didn't look queasy earlier." He cocked an eyebrow and Harleen growled. "I just love it when you do that, puddin'." He twittered.

Harleen refocused her mind on Batman. "Anyway, he's not reached the point where he's taken matter into his own hands, yet. Although, he's very impatient—you would know if you spoke to him. I don't think it'll be long before he attempts to take out a key player against him himself. He wants to see results, strike fear. He wants to turn Gotham into his own personal puppet. He's trying to instill anarchy through sly planning, logical methods, and that's his downfall. He plans extensively.

"He wants to be superior, show Gotham that he's no joker. He's got a motive and with each new crime he's working towards that end. He's childish as well. A mulish man, he gets ticked if just the smallest part of his plan is not carried out, or in my case if his plan is figured out. He can't stand being stopped. He wants to stump the people who he gives his riddles to. He can't help giving us clues to his next plans. He's a narcissist and even if he tried, I'm sure his Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder would eat at him to still yet leave his calling card."

Batman watched the doctor swim through her theories, her educated training. He had to admit she was impressive, to the point, and very intelligent. She was the perfect person to stop the Riddler—she'd been doing just that. Yet Batman knew she was in danger, she would be the Riddler's target. Get rid of her and the man would have no one as of yet that would stand in his way. 'No one, except me,' Batman thought. Within his mask, this conversation was being recorded.

"You are very thorough, Dr. Quinzel."

"Thank you." She flushed, but smiled. "That is almost the end of my knowledge except that it is obvious the Riddler, whoever he is, suffers from Bipolar Mania. He is apt to mood swings. I can just picture the violence in his eyes when he is foiled. He hates feeling inferior; I predict a fair amount of bullying in his early life, perhaps even familial abuse." She then stood up and sighed, shaking her head. A few strands of her corn-silk hair fell loose from their bind as she did this and pushed her chair in. She turned to stare at Batman and he could see it then, she was tired.

"That's all I know, nothing more, nothing less. You might as well have," she had an amused tone to her voice, "asked the Commissioner and the Lieutenant for all this. I told them every word I've just told you." She grinned up at him, "But I must admit, I never thought that in my life I'd meet not only the Joker, but his polar-opposite enemy as well. Geez, aren't I just the most unlucky girl? And _Bats_," she emphasized his name, realized who she sounded like, and ignored it completely; she was drained. "Don't warn me about the Riddler. I know very clearly who stands in the way of his plans. It's me. He'll come after me."

"And when he does? Can you handle it?"

Harleen, who had been having a glaring contest with the Joker suddenly turned to him. In that moment, the emotion that had never crossed her face caused her to pale. She was frightened. "I don't know," she admitted. She crossed the room, passing Batman. "I feel that to defeat this guy, I'll have to break a rule I never thought I'd be forced to."

"What rule would that be?" The Joker asked, morbidly curious and --though he'd not admit it yet-- a little concerned for the uncertainty on her face. She didn't answer him though she paused, but when Batman posed the same question, she moved again. She punched in the security code to exit.

"I may have to kill him," she said detachedly as if in some dream, "and I won't hesitate to do it."

Then she was gone.

"Isn't she great?" The Joker giggled. "Harley Quinn…Harley…my Harley. What kinda gifts you do think she likes? I'm not thinking she'll enjoy perfume. Flowers, though? You think, Batty?" Batman just ignored the man and with little more than a huff of air the lights went out again.

* * *

Her sanctuary…

Harleen carefully shut the door behind her and leaned against the solid frame. She took a long inhale through her nose and gave into the urge to sink to the floor. What a day…

She lifted her head and stared wearily around her. Her darkened apartment spread before her with her kitchen to her right. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door. She was overloaded, her mind sputtered at the events of the day. It was too much to take in, too much to process.

She braced her hands against the ivory carpet beneath her and finally stood back up. Her purse and keys were discarded on her kitchen counter. Her lab coat was placed upon her crimson arm chair and her shoes were carelessly kicked off. She ran a hand through her hair after loosening it and walked across her spacious living room and through the adjoining door to her bedroom.

The curtains on the bay windows blocked most of the bright city lights and as tired as she was, the sounds of distant traffic didn't bother her. She basically collapsed onto her bed, fully dressed. She curled up and shut her eyes. Her mind was buzzing, like electric currents. Her head felt light, but, and she hated to admit it, it felt exhilarating.

Images flashed through her head. Batman, the Riddler letters, Her first stare at the Joker, his expressions, the Joker's smile, the view of him without a shirt.

Harleen groaned. Of all times she could recall that, why now? She fought against her mind, rebelling against the flutter of her heart at the now unbiased memory. If she hadn't stopped him…

No!

She turned over and opened her eyes. Her heart sped in her chest, but her mind was alight with thoughts. She pressed her eyes tightly shut, crinkling her forehead. The Joker…every thought was the Joker now. The appearance of Batman was no consequence. He was given nothing more than a passing mention. The Joker's words, his lewd flirts echoed in her brain, images playing across the blackness of her eyelids to match the voice. Her head felt even lighter, and her heart continued to speed. She didn't want to think of him. Wasn't she too tired and overloaded to even think straight moments ago? Where had that gone, and why these sporadic thoughts _now_?

Flashes like fire of the man careened through her mind. She bit her lip and tossed around, trying to force them to leave. She attempted focus on anything but the Joker, a man she shouldn't trust, shouldn't be interested in. A man that…

_**That you crave.**_

She bolted up at the accusing whisper in her head. No, it wasn't true! She shook her head, but even as she did this she could feel his lips against hers again, his breath against her neck. She shivered in unbidden pleasure as it progresses to the memory of his tongue along her jaw. Her stomach rolled and she clenched her fists in her blanket. She fell back, a moan escaping her lips.

She wanted him to kiss her again. She frowned as she realized that she desired to feel those lips, which despite her initial assumptions actually _were_ soft and warm—curse her for admitting that. She wanted to feel them more fully against her own. She wanted to give into the forbidden rule that prohibited her from reciprocating the action.

Harleen Quinzel wanted to skim his neck with her own mouth, return every tease and more. She brought her hands up to her face and fisted them against her cheeks. She wanted it and she hated it! What happened to the real Harleen Quinzel, the one who would never do such things, never even imagined doing such things? She would never dream of breaking such ethical rules, not to mention personal, right?

Curled into herself, she vehemently shook her head. No, she wouldn't. But with every repeat of the mantra it weakened. She bit her lip and felt blood trickle into her mouth. Damn him! She got shown some sick affection by a criminally insane man and that's enough to turn her into mush?!

She was stronger than that. She turned on her back and slammed her fists against her beige mattress. She frowned and took a deep breath, slowing her heart, or attempting it. She fell asleep still dreaming of his lips, still imagining his embrace. She was just tired…yeah, that was it. She'd laugh at these thoughts in the morning.

She sighed as the darkness of sleep greeted her, as she felt a pair of hands gently wind around her waist.

"_**Go to sleep, Harley…Sweet dreams for my sweetie…"**_

She whimpered. What the-? It was his voice, but her protests silenced as the void engulfed her into troubled dreams.

_She towel-dried her sodden blonde hair, and wrapping her body with the damp large, violet towel she silently entered the hallway, her skin tingling in some sort of anxiety. She turned to her left to walk the short distance to her room, but she was stopped by a pair of arms wrapping around her._

_She stiffened, but when the person laid their head on her should and nuzzled her neck, nipping the skin, she relaxed. She smiled and felt her face flush lightly as he embraced her firmly._

"_So, uh, you took a shower without me, eh?" His voice crooned and his hands played with the two sections of her towel as if contemplating what he should do. "I personally think I'm entitled __**compensation**__ for missing the show." His voice was low and husky in her ear, and it sent a tingle through her._

_He chuckled, "Yeah, I like that idea…C'mon, Harley, let me see your body so I can touch every one of your curves." His hands fell to her hips where he rubbed small circles through the towel. She giggled and escaped his grasp playfully. She turned to him, clasping her towel around her, her heart beating fast. He licked his lips, painted crimson like blood._

"_So, we're gonna play this way," he lowered his head and stared darkly at her from within the guise of face paint, his faintly green hair gleaming in the morning light. "Harley, my favorite color may be purple, but my favorite view of you is without that towel." He stretched out his arms, "Come here, and let's make some explosive chaos—just you, me, and perhaps your bed."_

_She smirked and took a step forward pretending to let go of her towel. The Joker nodded, chewing on his cheeks, but he groaned when she reestablished her grip. "__**Babe!**__"Even though he could have grabbed her, he didn't. She leaned forward instead, one hand releasing her towel in preference of wrapping around his neck as she brought her lips to his painted ones._

_His reaction was instantaneous; he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to him while he returned her kiss ravenously. Her fingers dug into his hair as he began backing up with her in tow, continuing their lip-lock, but she had to run out of air eventually. She pulled away and leaned her head against his chest and breathed in deeply, but instantly something was wrong._

_The room had changed. It was darker and cooler. It was as if all the joy had been pulled out of the scene. She clenched her hands into the Joker's shirt as she recognized the wallpaper of the abandoned room where Lt. Hawkins had been held._

_It was then that she heard the laugh from the Joker; it was mechanical, not human. This wasn't the Joker anymore, their body felt different, colder. She stifled her fear and dared to stare up with wide eyes at the man now embracing her._

"_Naughty, naughty, Harley Quinn…Has the red jester fallen for the black joker?" She knew this was the Riddler, but all he was was a male form of green with black question marks and a large mouth, stretching from ear to ear, not a Joker grin, but a gaping hole He looked nothing human, and it was terrifying. "How sickeningly cute." His grip tightened around her and Harleen cringed. It felt like he was trying to break her ribs. "It's too bad, you know, that he can't save you now…" She screamed then, lashing out and trying to break to his grip. He growled and released her._

_She realized then that she was dressed in her Arkham coat and normal clothes now. She was too slow as she righted herself and tried to run. Her body was stiff, as if frozen. She couldn't have escaped the rough tug on her coat even if she had tried. _

_She was pulled back to the Riddler who turned her around. Her body jarred at the impact of her shoulders against his chest, and despite the fact she couldn't see him, she knew he moved. At that moment she felt it clearly, a knife at her lips. His garbled laughter excelled in volume._

"_I wonder if he'd appreciate a woman with his smile."He mused the cold steel outlining her rosy lips. She whimpered as the knife slid into her mouth, she couldn't fight it. Tears gathered in her eyes. "It is gonna hurt, but please scream for me. Scream loudly." She shut her eyes, beginning to hyperventilate. She felt the sharp edge of the knife against the right side of her mouth, and she couldn't escape. Then he tugged the handle._

_Harleen screamed, feeling her cheek rip._

Harleen screamed, and lashed out, struggling. Her body met the hard floor of her room, tangling her in her sheets. She broke into tears then, her heart in overdrive as she realized it'd all been a dream. Her chest heaved and she pulled her knees to her chin. She hadn't cried in fear for years, but she couldn't stop the torrent. Why had her dream turned so unpleasant?

Stress and her warring mind were explanation enough for the first half of her dream, but why had it needed to stop? Now that she looked back on it, she would have rather not dreamed it, but it was better than the nightmare of its second act.

There was an intrinsic dread in her bones as she stood up and crawled back into bed, taking a glance at her bedside clock, whose digital numbers informed her that it was 3:21 in the morning. She logically saw nothing to be afraid of in her dream, it had been nothing but that, but her body was stimulated in fright and for hours Harley just lied there.

She pulled herself to her living room eventually. At seven in the morning she finally fell asleep again, the morning news murmuring in her ears.

* * *

The vacant steel mill stretched out before him in the darkness. Edward flicked a strand of his slick, ebony hair from his face as he glared coldly at the man restrained in the chair. The moonlight turned his glower more sinister as he crossed his arms.

The man before him was chained tightly about the wrists, the legs, and even around his middle. His greasy gray hair, stuck to his forehead and it was clear to see that the restraints were digging into his plump arms and rounded stomach. Not enough to cut off circulation, but enough to be irrefutably painful.

"So," Edward began softly his expression contemplative, "what exactly were you doing?"

"Honest, boss, I wasn't thinkin' of doin' nothin'."

"LIES!" The man cowered at the screech. Edward was without his voice disguise. He leaned threateningly into the man's face, his stiff arms supported by the rigid chair arms. "Now, tell me," he hissed, "what you were doing when I came in here? Nothing false."

The man, one of his measly thugs who was about as smart as a toothpick in Edward's opinion, shook his head, "N-n-nothin'! I swear!"

"Oh, ya do? It sure didn't look that way. You seemed in a big hurry to get out. Now, I'm going to give you one more chance," Edward grabbed the man's shirt and with strength uncharacteristic of him pulled the man painfully against his chains. "What…were…you…doing?"

"I have a family, they were getting suspicious. I just wanted out, that's it!"

The Riddler pulled back and began to pace. "Then, why not just tell me?" He smiled, but the kindness in his eyes was too sweet. He grinned and it was seeped with dementia. "You know what? Don't answer that. I know…it's because you were going to turn me in."

"No, no I-"

"Shut up!" He stopped and swiveled to face the man. "You were. I found the note. You dropped it." He reached into his pants and held up the paper and the once criminal's face paled. He waved it. "You really thought you would be able to do that? Well, thank your friends here for being the informants I truly needed."

The man turned to the others that had gathered to watch as their leader interrogated the culprit. They wouldn't meet the eyes of the damned man. Yes, damned; his fate had been decided the moment the Riddler had found the note.

"I just wanted…I never woulda done anything!"

Edward sighed, "And I'm expected to believe such lies?" He chuckled. "Unlike you with your infantile intelligence, I'm not stupid. You'll not betray me." He walked back over to the man and stared at him with a giddy grin.

"You'll not tell because," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a glistening pistol, his emerald gloves glowed in the eerie light as he raised the gun to the man's head. Edward heard the man's breath catch in his throat. His eyes glinted maliciously, "Because, you'll not even see the morning sun."

The man screamed, a last and useless effort to be spared, but the other thugs only closed their eyes as the shot rang out, silencing the yell suddenly. When they dared to look once again the doomed man's eyes were now unseeing. Blood splattered the ground around him and marred his clothes from the single gunshot wound to his head. The Riddler stood in front him, his face dark.

"Let this be an example to the rest of you." He seethed and turned to them. He began walking toward the crowd, checking his clothing for any stray blood. He dropped the gun into one of the goon's hands. To another he fished an envelope from the pocket of his emerald vest.

"On your way to take away this trash of a traitor, do drop this by the police station. Deliver it personally please and then get out of there." He ordered and then he was proceeding into the shadows, giggling as he left.

_Harleen Quinzel,_

_You were right, I am intrigued by you. Intrigued and absolutely loathing of your idiotic smugness. You try and figure this one out. Good luck, I thought long and hard about this one. I am the White King and you, you annoying Black Knight will be taken. Drop out of this game while you can, and yes, that was an honest threat. You're beginning to tread on glass, Harley Quinn, and you'd best reverse your track before you hurt yourself._

_I will not hesitate to take you out personally if your foolhardiness does not stop._

_Dr. Harleen Quinzel…_

_When you stop and look, you can always see me. If you try to touch you cannot feel me. I cannot move, but as you near me, I will move away from you. With me will come a shattered sight, an explosion of towering heights, for I will destroy that which can bring a smile to your face, a tear to your eye, or even a thought to your mind, but can't be seen. Yet I'll only take away the most recent; before this present now you knew the blueprint._

_You will get this letter, and the day after you receive it I will strike…And I will know when you receive it, Harley. Riddle me this, my dear…If you can or if you dare._

_A little advice, though…I wouldn't dare, personally…_


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

"_**I could hear the sizzle and crackle of the fuse; I was filled with combustibles and it was only a matter of time, a mere question of how long and how much more I could take before the final explosions rang out…"**_

She felt horrible, thus she felt she must also look horrible, but she didn't give a damn. She leaned her head against the steel door and tiredly pressed the code. She groaned silently and righted herself as it opened and stepped in. Honestly, she shouldn't have come.

Four hours of sleep made her a ball of chaos, literally. She wasn't sure what would come out of her mouth once she began speaking. She hated having little sleep; she could function, but she'd rather not.

Her eyes glanced up and she frowned deeply. She _really_ shouldn't have come. One look at the Joker and it was insult to injury. Memories of yesterday and of her dreams assaulted her and she brought a hand to her head, as if to rub them out of her mind.

"Damn it," she muttered, but forced herself to sit down and face the man. She managed to stop massaging her head and took a deep breath.

"Mornin', doc." He twittered cheerfully.

She grunted and turned her recorder on in her pocket, like she did before the beginning of every session. He blinked and leaned back a little to take in her full appearance. She was wearing a pair of tan slacks, a square-necked forest blouse, her coat, and her hair was down. She was radiant, but something was disrupting her usual aura.

"Bad night?" He posed, seeing the dark circles under her eyes.

"You could say that," she mused flatly.

He grinned, "Now, now, don't take it out on me. I'm not the one that made you lose sleep." He licked his lips, "Or was I? I dream of you too, Dr. Quinn. I dream of all the chaos we could cause, just you, me, and-"

'…perhaps your bed.' The thought finished in her mind, repeating her dream, so she didn't catch what his final words actually were. She glared down at the table, cheeks red. "Please, dream of you…only in my nightmares."

"Sleep deprived and yet still saucy," he snickered. "So what did you dream about that's got your panties all in a bunch?"

Harleen raised her head back up and glared at him. "That is none of your business. I'm already angry with myself enough about it."

"Well, _obviously_ it was unpleasant." He pushed up his imaginary glasses and in a faux-professional tone asked, "And how does that make you feel?"

"Doesn't matter; we're here because of you not me." She almost cut him off. She winced at her snappish voice. Had lack of sleep really done this to her? She groaned, and she felt the ache settle in her bones—that heavy tiredness that embraces a person and drains them to the point it feels as if they want to die in order to recover.

"I'm sorry." She said as an afterthought, thinking that her tone was far more bitter than she'd intended. She was too tired, everything was a jumble. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

"You're sorry?" She heard the giggle in his voice. "What are _**you**_ sorry for?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to get your kicks elsewhere. I'm tragically out of character today."

"You sure you're not just still mad at me for yesterday?" Harley snorted at the question. "Am I still mad at you? That's like asking if the sky's blue. I am beyond pissed with you." To herself she added, 'but more at myself for just letting it happen…besides, I can't help that I'm just hot like that.' Inwardly she giggled at that thought.

"Would you like me to apologize? I wouldn't mean it, but if it would make you feel better…Besides if you're so angry with me, why am I still unrestrained?" He raised an eyebrow at her. He loved her pride. She wanted to seem so in control. Her confidence most of the time was enthralling.

Harleen deflated and her head fell on the table. "I am so tired…so not needing this right now, but it's not like I can just skip on work because I had a nightmare, really…I mean, was it so bad? No."

The Joker listened to her. "Um, are you talking to yourself? That's a bad sign, especially when you're also answering yourself." To go along with his invisible glasses he wrote onto an invisible clipboard, vocalizing his air scribbles, "Patient appears to be progressing into an inner world of which only she is a part. Further study will be needed to determine if this phenomenon will progress into multiple personality disorder."

When she didn't respond to his joking he reached forward and patted her head. "Sleep, Dr. Quinzel." He said softly and tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. She shot up and batted his hand away. "Don't touch me." She muttered "And go to sleep with you in the room? No! I'll wake up defiled."

The Joker sighed. "I thought we've been through this. I don't do rape." Harleen rolled her eyes. "Whatever, I'd still wake up without pants." The Joker scooted back in his seat and puckered his lips in thought. He tilted his head. "No, why would I do that? It's no fun taking your pants off when you're asleep; it's much more fun trying to get them off of you awake."

"That's it! Can you not just for one day give me a damn break?! I come in here and I listen and deal with your advances every fucking day! You've flirted lewdly with me, you've attempted to grope me, you've kissed me, and I don't know what you'd call licking my jaw, but you did that! And I getting tired of it! Just leave me alone for one day! Tell me your life story or something, but give me a break! I deal with enough of this shit from every other guy and I don't need it from you! Damn why are you so persistent?"

"Why are you so stubborn?"

She tilted her head sharply, her eyes boring into his coldly. He blinked. She was serious, absolutely serious. Her voice hadn't been joking and her expression was steel. She was reaching the end of her nerves today. Yet, it was too tempting. What would she do if he gave her one more push?

"Sleep deprivation does you wonders, doc…you're still so interesting. You still make my blood boil," he saw her frown grow thinner, "but fine." He threw up his hands in surrender. "You want to know how I really got these scars?"

She cocked an eyebrow. She seriously doubted that it would be the truth. "Why not? I doubt you did it for your wife, not that I don't doubt you were ever married, but your scars aren't warrant enough to leave. If I was her, the scars wouldn't matter. And your father, now that one is plausible."

"The scars wouldn't matter?" He asked curiously, following her first train of thought. Harleen shook her head. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you will anyway so…You're not unattractive. The scars are there, but I'd call them a war wound if anything when I told the story."

"Well, at least you're somewhat attracted to me." He twittered. He heard her mutter negatively, but leaned back further. "My scars…my family loved to travel, you see, and of course when I could I would tag along." He smiled. "The lands we saw were beautiful, but nothing compares to you, Harley—anyway," he continued quickly, yet enjoyed the light blush she thought he wouldn't notice. If only she'd let go. He shut his eyes at the thoughts invoked by that one wish. "Anyway, one day we were traveling through some country and I, now I was just maybe eight at the time, I wanted to have some fun. So while my mother and father were speaking to a street vender I snuck away.

"I walked down the street and that's when I saw it." The Joker hunched down and stared into Harleen's eyes. "I saw a beautiful necklace. The jewels were as blue as your eyes, stunning, and I knew I wanted to give it to my mom, but I didn't have enough money. I doubt my entire family did, but I wanted it so I went up and paid for a basket of fruit. While the guy was getting the goods together I swiped the necklace, alright?"

Harleen felt the dread rising in her stomach, even if this wasn't the true story he had a way with the words. Without the threat of a knife at her lips, she was enthralled, waiting for him to continue. "You took the necklace?"

The Joker smiled, "Yeah, and the man didn't suspect a thing until I began walking away and the thing falls outta my pocket. And I stand there and look guilty, but the man…oh, he's furious. He runs up to me, grabs the necklace and then pulls me close. I'm near tears as he hisses in my face, 'So the little boy wants to tell lies does he? Think it's funny to deceive people, does he?' I try to apologize, but I'm scared. That's when he pulls out the knife he used to cut the fruit he gave me and I dropped the basket, its contents falling on the ground. He then sticks the blade in my mouth."

Harleen still heard his words as he spoke, but she was transported back to her dream with the faceless, formless Riddler. "His voice was even angrier as he went on now, 'Well, since you find it funny to tell lies, we'll just make it so everyone can see how happy you are.' I feel the blade against the corner of my mouth and he laughs. 'This will teach you!' And then he'-"

Harley screamed and clutched her cheek, shaking. Her suddenly reaction even caught the Joker off guard. He jumped before regarding her in shock. "Now, doc, I don't think I need that much pity…"

Tears were falling down her eyes as she shook her head. "I-I-that's not it. I just-sorry." Damn it! Her emotions were shambles today. She placed her head in her heads, and tried to calm down. "You're being stupid, Harley, it was just a dream…that was it…just a dream. You're letting the Riddler get to you too deeply. 'Has the red jester fallen for the black joker?' Ha." She muttered, but it was strident enough in a room containing only two people.

The Joker stared at her intently, not intensely, but with enough interest that it was prolonged. When she raised her head, her tears now controlled, she saw him. He had been silent since her outburst, no smart comment, no laughter. Her fear morphed into anger, her curiosity to ire. "What?"

"I heard what you said," he stated, but he placed a hand under his chin. Harleen shrugged, "So, what did I say that you're acting like this?" The Joker licked his lips deviously, "Oh you've just revealed to me more than you'll ever know. The red jester has fallen for the black joker, has she?" Harleen froze, her face caught for a moment in confusion then horror. "The-shit! I was thinking out loud!" She hadn't realized she had verbalized any of that. She shook her head, "It was just a dream…the Riddler just said it off-handedly," she lied, "before he pulled a knife on me. I remember the tug on my right cheek. I woke up screaming, but that's no matter, it was a dream. I'm just letting him get to me. I didn't even understand the dream until I woke up yelling."

She was making excuses. Her emotions were glass in her sleepless state. She was an open book to the Joker now, and perhaps she didn't realize it, but the Joker was enjoying this. She was lying, poorly lying. The dream had a profound effect on her. The Joker chewed on his cheek, taking in her flustered appearance, a beautiful fright. Yet, he strangely wanted her to calm down.

On her this fear wasn't delicious. It bothered him. The Riddler wouldn't dare touch her; he wouldn't allow it. He may have been in Arkham, but every professional criminal still had his/her connections and he certainly did. Through Arkham, in the streets, in the Gotham Police Department, he had men that would follow his orders, except perhaps setting him free from this house, not that he wanted freedom just yet. The answer to why that was sat across from him. He wanted her pliant before he went, and he would give her that time. It wouldn't be long, her tactless self told him that. The conflict in her mind was palpable.

Was the red jester falling for the black joker? Yes, and he wouldn't let her be scared. He would protect her. No one else would come near _his_ Harley.

"The Riddler won't touch you if he values his life." He stated seriously. Harleen stared up at him in surprise at his confidence. "You don't think, so?" Her voice was a bite of disbelief.

"I don't think, I know."

"The guy threatens me with every letter he sends. If the police can't do anything, then how do you expect to stop him from in here? I'm flattered you want to, though, despite how useless the gesture is."

She didn't even attempt to be sorry for her caustic words; plain and simple she wasn't. Why would he care? He didn't, she told herself and turned away, gritting her teeth.

"Harley-"

"Dr. Quinzel."

He sighed, "Dr. Quinzel, I may be in here, but I have people that still work for me. Just because the Joker's locked up doesn't mean he's confined."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, but she ignored it. "I'll deal," she said and leaned back. "I'm mad enough about that dream. I mean it was just a dream, why was I so scared of it? Let the Riddler give me your smile…He'd regret it."

The Joker nodded, "He would." It was a dark promise. If that man tried anything, he'd be shown what comes of messing with the Joker. "There's already one person walking around with my signature expression, me. I really don't think Gotham's prepared for another, and it would be a pity to see your beautiful face scarred, not that," he straightened his posture, "I would mind, I'd still like ya."

"To someone like you," Harleen pondered softly, "I'm not surprised." She said nothing about his statements, his continued flirts. Her head was beginning to throb both from lack of sleep and the losing battle she was having in her mind. Her stomach churned in thrill at the underlying meaning behind his words. They were true; to one who was scarred physically, and perhaps even, she dared a glance at him, emotionally what matter would another's make? They could accept more easily, accept because they knew a darker world. She shut her eyes.

"What are you hiding now, Harley? Fear? What secrets are you concealing behind those lids?"

Harleen smiled ruefully, "More than I'll ever tell you."

"We'll see, maybe one day you'll tell me." He linked his hands together. "But don't you worry about the Riddler…He touches you and he'll pay for it, you'll see. Harley," he reached over and quickly took her hands in his, "I'm very, how you say, protective when it comes to my things, people should know better than to harm them."

Harleen felt his grip, it was firm, but as soon as it slackened she pulled back fast, staring up at him in awe, and she regretted it, she knew it was approval as she cuddled her hands. That look revealed her inner war, and the side that was currently winning. She cursed silently, 'Please let him have not seen that.'

But he had, and it caused him a small impish smile. So was that what she was hiding? His jester was coming around, his jester whose freedom he could never take. She was his, he felt it, but she was also her own. Did that mean he was hers? He squelched that thought for another time as he watched her maneuver in her chair.

He glanced at the clock. "You get good sleep tonight, doc. You may be fun without any, but it's not entertaining to see you so perturbed. I'd help you sleep, but I'm here, unfortunately."

Harley stood up, "I don't think we'd agree on the method you'd try and use. Tomorrow, then."

She opened the door stepped out into Arkham's Halls, but she was too sluggish. The Joker's final words reached her fluently.

"Doc, how lewd! Ya know, saying a thing like that makes me think perhaps you wouldn't fight back so much!"

She flushed darkly, happy she was no longer in the room, as she heard his rumbling laughter. She gave an embarrassed smiled to the people passing her in the halls and rubbed her head. This state was not healthy for her. All she wanted to do was go home and nap for the rest of the-

Her phone vibrated against her side. She pulled it out and wanted to scream at the name on the screen.

_Commissioner Gordon._

"Hello?" She answered politely, not allowing her frustration to leak into her tenor.

"Dr. Quinzel, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but the Riddler's sent another letter…and…it's written personally to you."

Harleen glared ahead as she walked into the front lobby. Was this honestly necessary? The Commissioner sounded concerned, but who wouldn't be with a new criminal threatening the streets? But still-

"Well, that's not anything new. What does this new letter say?"

"I don't want to alarm you, but I think you should come down as soon as you can and read it yourself."

Those words never should have been uttered. Harleen was edgy as soon as he had told her his wish not to worry her. She allowed none of that to color her voice, nonetheless. "What does it say?"

The Commissioner was quiet, "It's best you read it yourself. When I say personally addressed, I mean it Ms. Quinzel. He's no longer talking to us. He's talking to you only…and he's not playing kiddy games anymore. He's become very serious, very fast."

Harleen bit her lip. She saw her car a few feet ahead. Her legs didn't seem to move fast enough, now as adrenaline awoke every nerve in her body, pushing her weariness away.

"I'm on my way."

She shut the phone not even bothering to wait for his farewell and stuffed it in her pocket as she unlocked her car door.

The screech of her tires was high in the quiet parking lot as she sped off. What did the letter say? It had to be bad. Harleen shivered as she recalled how uncertain Gordon's voice had sounded. She no longer questioned why any longer, but with that answered came more inquiries, each more disturbing that the last popped into her head.

He grinned as he caught sight of her small figure passing his tinted windows. He easily got out of the car and waved the driver away as he shut the door. He sprinted towards the woman, an interested look on his face. He'd told her he'd find out.

"Dr. Quinzel!" He called and caught up with her as she stopped and turned to stare at with a thin smile.

He gave her a suave grin, but her own superficial expression unnerved him slightly, normally the girl was a slate of calm, but he could feel the distress wafting off her. Her eyes were darkly ringed and a slight weariness dulled the normally bright orbs. "You okay?"

She nodded, "Yeah," and it was obvious she wasn't. Inwardly he grinned, had the news of his personal letter affected her so deeply? "You seemed in a hurry and you look stressed." Harleen chuckled softly, "You could say that. It's just the Riddler. He sent another letter. So what brings you here, Mr. Nashton?"

She was being polite, but Edward could see her anxiety clearly. Her eyes glanced to the side. He held out his arm, "I'll tell you as I escort in, milady." Harleen gave a more genuine smile and took his offered arm and the duo began walking again. "I told the Commissioner I'd come and answer some questions sometime this week, today just worked out. It's quite a coincidence to also run into you."

Harleen nodded, apparently not in the mood for much chatter on her part. Edward, however, did not want the silence. "You work on this Riddler case with the police…why hasn't more been found or done about him? This isn't looking good on the record, you know? What exactly is slowing the police down? I'd be a little incensed at the lack of action. This guy is dangerous, right, and he's still walking the streets. That is not a comforting thought, let me tell you."

"I understand the concern, Mr. Nashton, but you must also understand that the Riddler is elusive. He leaves nothing to trace back to a person. His letters are taped, typed, stamped, and eloquent. He doesn't want to be found. He wants to prove his intelligence to the world. I think he has a secret vendetta against Gotham." Harleen replied.

The two were walking down the various halls in the police department building in order to reach the lower levels where the newly re-built Major Crimes Unit was situated. Edward stared ahead, his mouth pursed. Damn woman always had to be on the ledge of discovery. Yes, he wanted to prove his intelligence against the peons of Gotham, and yes he held a vendetta for the city that laughed at his hypotheses and denied his research. He restrained himself from causing harm to the woman he was leading to the MCU. It would be too hard to get away with that, no matter how much he wanted to do it.

_In good time, Edward…In good time…_

"No one's ever seen him? Not even the thugs from the Arkham heist?"

Harley shook her head, "No, he was just a garbled voice on the phone line for them." Edward tsked, but he truly wanted to laugh. This was too rich! He felt like a wolf parading in a herd of sheep, all of them too stupid to realize the disguise, but he had to admit to himself: his acting was damn good! He casted a long glance her way and smirked minutely; and soon she would see just how serious he was, but for now the entrance of the MCU was before them.

"You're visit is much more pressing than mine," he bowed releasing her arm. "You can speak to them first, besides, I'm a gentleman. Ladies first always."

He sat down as she walked to the front desk and waved her I.D. from Arkham. He couldn't wait to see her face after reading his threat. He chuckled at her retreating back.

'Quite a coincidence that you're here too; a little too much of a coincidence,' Harleen thought glancing from the corners of her eyes as she entered Lt. Hawkins office. She glad she was out of the man's presence. He was just too charming, too innocent—it unnerved her, and she had no doubt the man knew it.

Gordon stood to the left, against a wall as she fully appeared in the room, the door closing behind her. She nodded her head. "I'll not waste time with formalities. What's the creep done now?"

The Commissioner held out the latest postcard silently his gray eyes revealing the gravity of the letter. Harleen swiped it, and opened it.

She sat down at a glance at the first line, the greeting. It _was_ addressed to her. Her eyes scanned the body, and with each line her pulse increased.

_Drop out of this game while you can…_

_I will not hesitate to take you out personally if your foolhardiness does not stop…_

_And I will know when you receive it, Harley…_

_A little advice, though…I wouldn't dare, personally…_

Such a simple sentence structure and yet Harleen clearly felt the animosity of the man she was tracking. He was becoming desperate, his riddle revealed that. It was not easy to figure out. The twinge of her head made itself known again. The hand holding the letter fell into her lap and she closed her eyes. Why now? Hadn't she had enough for the day?

This was ridiculous…this was—she felt tears slip from her lids. She was scared. He was going to take something from her. Something that she knew was going to hurt. Who or what was his target? She felt helpless, her mind refused to decipher the puzzle of text on the manuscript. She couldn't do anything, nothing.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and her throat sputtered as she opened her eyes and witnessed Jim Gordon on his knees in front of her. The look on his face told her he had experience in the position she was in. His life, his family's lives had been threatened before.

"I can't figure it out…and he's going to act tomorrow. I need sleep…I didn't need this. What am I going to do?" Her voice was small. She felt like a little child. She wiped at her eyes angrily. Damn it! She hated feeling so vulnerable, so useless. Jim's hand fell to her own. "We'll help. If we can, we'll stop this guy before he strikes." Harleen nodded at him and the smiling Hawkins, but in her heart she knew the timeline was too short. A riddle such as this would not be solved in a day.

The colors of her life were draining away…

She shuffled into her apartment, her face and spirit haggard. She deposited all her belongings in their proper place and crawled into her bed.

The Joker was to blame for this! If he hadn't licentiously attacked her yesterday the dream would have never been and she would have had sleep and maybe she wouldn't be at such a disadvantage. She growled, but even as she thought those horrible thoughts, she knew they weren't true. The Joker didn't know, he was just out for a reaction, he wasn't trying to her hurt like this, and he had been less agitating today, and had actually shown some sympathy for her, fake or not. She shut those thoughts off before they could consume again, and it amazingly worked. Yet, it left her open to ponder the letter, the threat, and how once again how powerless she was. She had failed.

She fell asleep crying, her body too tired to keep her awake even as she despaired.

The Riddler would strike the next day, take a precious something from her. He was out for blood and pain, and he would get it. She wouldn't be able to do anything! Edward knew this and as he was driven away from the MCU he reveled in the feeling of victory. This jackpot was his. He clapped his hands together and broke out into a chilling, raucous laugh painted black with insanity. His driver shivered, but said nothing as the night engulfed them.

Riddle me this, riddle me that…who's afraid of the big, black, bat? Even he would be nothing against him. The Riddler really had won, because Bruce Wayne was no closer to solving the riddle than Harleen or the police were.

The morning would be painted with blood, but would it bring death? Would it just be a fright? Or would a bomb be set off that would shape the story from this moment on? Perhaps all of those would happen, only the crimson morning would reveal that. The present night was silent, uncertain, giving no answers.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"_**The first black domino fell with a glittering crimson dawn, an echoing sanguinity of derangement, and the first subtle explosion sang."**_

* * *

**11:38 am.**

The Gotham West Psychiatric Complex was having a rare day, after opening its doors around eight that morning. The sun cast a warm glow into the quaint waiting room in which an orderly woman was checking for disturbances and laying out fresh magazines. Everything was running smoothly and there was no actual appointments scheduled until twelve o'clock, but a transport vehicle was expected to arrive any minute now to gather a patient.

Taylor Henderson watched as her nurse rushed about the room, packing medications in her tote bag. She sighed, at least the morning was cheerful she rationalized, but at the same time she was a bit apprehensive. The eighteen year-old was nervous about her impending transport to Arkham Asylum, but it'd just be for an overnight observation by the esteemed Jeremiah Arkham, founder and sponsor of the establishment that held every variety of psychiatric case imaginable.

Taylor snorted; no wonder she was antsy. She took a deep breath; but it was just for a night, a harmless twenty-four hours. She could handle it; she was only going there to be observed. She would be the first to admit she felt horrible about why she was going; who wanted to tell a random stranger that she suffered from Bulimia? Was she ashamed? Of course, but despite her guilt and all the compliments she still did it. There was a part of her, though, that hoped this observation would further help her, like the sessions with her previous doctor, Harleen Quinzel, had. She had improved a lot since then, but the observation was still scheduled.

She'd be fine and as the nurse walked over to her where she leaned against the wall, she offered the woman a smile. She was grateful for the kindness she was afforded—they had allowed her stay overnight in order to ensure her transport.

"You ready, Taylor? Your ride is here."

"Yeah, it's time to kick this pop stand, huh?" She straightened her posture and followed the woman out.

"You nervous?" Taylor flushed a little and nodded, "Yeah, it's still a little weird to introduce myself to new doctors and talk about my disorder." The nurse offered her a kind smile, "I understand, but you keep your head up. I heard it's gotten a lot better."

"It has," and of that she was very proud. She walked the rest of the way to the entrance with a confident smile on her face. She was getting better; she could handle one measly observation night. She took her bag from the nurse and climbed into the small, comfortable transportation van.

She peered at the two men sitting in the front; one had short brown hair beneath his cap while the other appeared to have a black pony-tail. Typical, she thought and sat back as the van pulled off, the short-haired man the driver.

She hadn't expected much interaction from the driver or his partner, but their silence was skin-crawling. They weren't even talking to each other, but Taylor tried to shrug it off. It was still a little early, maybe they hadn't slept well, maybe they had had a fight, maybe—there were a lot reasons for their uncanny silence.

Yet out of all the reasons, she'd never suspect what would occur once the raven-haired man did decide to speak to her.

They had just turned onto the freeway, when the passenger turned his head and peered at her. He offered her an alluring smile that made her heart flutter. The gesture reached his eyes in a different manner, though. His eyes were bright with an unsettling wickedness. Involuntarily a shiver descended her spine, but she tried to hide it. 'Don't say anything, just smile back…'

"Arkham, eh?" He asked innocently.

Taylor nodded, her breath returning to normal, maybe he was just one of those people. He repeated her gesture as if noting it. "Nervous?"

"A little," her reply was soft and meek. He glanced at the driver before getting up and carefully making his way to sit beside her. She pressed herself a little against the interior of the vehicle, tensing at his behavior. He clasped his hands together, he was wearing a pair of green gloves—odd—and gave her an apologetic smile, but as with his other expression it didn't reach his hazel eyes. Her hesitance, she knew, shined in her own green orbs; he was staring at her as if she was something to devour. Her stomach grew nauseous at all the possibilities posed by that; the worse one making her gut churn.

"I'll not ask you what you're going to Arkham for; how rude would that be?" He chuckled, "but I was just curious about one thing." He stuck his hands in his pockets and his face scrunched as if pondering an appropriate way to phrase what he wanted to know. Finally he nodded. "You're a patient at Gotham West, before her other job offer, you had a Ms. Harleen Quinzel as your doctor, right?" She blinked. That was what he wanted to know? Did that really justify scaring her death and being so close? If it made him move she'd answer. "Yeah, she used to be my doctor."

"Do you happen to know where she works now?" Taylor was sad to say she that didn't and the nurses didn't want to talk about it. They seemed angry, scared—upset—at the subject. The man must have seen the answer in her expression. He smiled brightly, a little _too_ brightly. "I know where she works. Would you like to see her again?" Taylor knew she shouldn't trust him, and she really didn't but she nodded anyway. "Sure, I'd love to, but it'd have to be later. Where does she work? Maybe later on a day I'm not doing anything I can visit her."

"Of course, she works at Arkham." Taylor's eyes widened. "Yeah, I know pretty lofty, huh? Well, I'm going to have him," he pointed to the driver, "let you see her, but you have got to be ready, and," he reached out and gripped her chin softly. The material of his gloves, chaffed the skin slightly. She had tried to get away, but his reflexes were too quick for her. He turned her head gently. "You don't look appropriate enough. I think—you know what I think?" She shook her head, her body beginning to shake in fear. She could see a strange lunacy overcome his cheerful features. He laughed at her. "I think you need to be…happier."

He leaned towards her and she instinctively pressed herself painfully into the inside of the van. He trapped her body there. She had no way to escape. "Is Harleen a good doctor?" Taylor whimpered, at his soft whisper filled with venom. He stared at her a moment and when he got no answer his grip on her chin fell away only to be replaced by his hand gripping her throat. She gasped, it caught—she was beginning to choke; he was cutting off her air. "I'm going to ask you again, Taylor Alessa Henderson," how did he know her name?! "…and you're going to answer me, alright? If you do, I'll let you breathe again, good?" She nodded frantically. "Great, now…Was Dr. Quinzel a good doctor to you?" She nodded immediately and gasped and coughed as he removed his hand, allowing air into her windpipe again.

"Did you like Dr. Quinzel?" She nodded again, aware that he was blocking her escape as he pressed her against the van with his own wiry body. "Cute. Did Harleen like you?" Why all these questions about her previous doctor? Was he some kind of stalker? But she shrugged, "I guess…so…" she replied quickly. She had seen his expression thin. His hand tapped her chin. "Well, then, that means I have the perfect girl for my plan." And she instantly knew this plan was not something she was going to like.

Taylor felt a cold dread settle over her as a matching sweat damped her skin. Her pulse and breathing quickened. She was not scared, no, she was absolutely terrified. She wanted to get out of there, escape, and she knew it was impossible. She felt tears prick her eyes and she shut them tightly. She bit her lip, but she knew her soft sobbing was heard by the lunatic above her. She just knew she was going to die.

"I really hate it when people turn their attention away, you know," he sing-songed. "Chin up, chit, no reason to be crying just yet, besides we don't want Dr. Quinzel to see your tears."

Was this a joke? Where was the hidden camera? She was going to punch whoever thought this was funny. "Are you going to open your eyes and look at me as you should to be polite, or am I going to have to use _other_ methods to get cooperation?"

Her eyes flew open instantly. "Excellent, now where was I before you decided to interrupt my musings?" He hissed and suddenly she felt an excruciating sting on the side of her face. The blow was so hard that she slammed her head against his arm. She gasped. He'd slapped her, and the green gloves covering his hand had sharpened the strike.

"I hate being interrupted, you got that?!" She stared up fearfully at him. Why wasn't the driver helping? What was going on? Why wasn't anyone going to save her? What had she done to deserve this? Again…WHAT WAS GOING ON?! She sniffled and nodded.

"Please don't hurt me. What do you want? I'm sorry…please…" Her voice was so pitiful so frightened and staring into the demon-face of her assailant she knew he enjoyed it. "Your pain is so sweet, though, and what do I want? I want a certain person to suffer for her mulish, arrogant personality." His hand was soothing her reddened cheek, cradling her head against his arm. She whimpered. "Yes, now…be scared. You're going to be my warning to her."

"Sir, please, don't-" He placed a finger on her lips and shook his head. She felt him move. He had pulled something from his pocket and with one hand he had flicked it open.

In the late, morning light the silvery razored-edge of a switchblade glittered in his hand. She choked on her gasp and shook her head. He grinned. "I'm going to enjoy this," she heard him mutter as he pressed against her even tighter. In her fear she was paralyzed.

"Are we almost there?" He craned his head to the side.

"Yeah, boss, just a few more minutes." She heard the driver's voice finally.

He _was_ in on it! Tears freely flowed down her cheeks as he returned his attention to her. "Plenty of time…plenty of time…" He brought the knife to her face and, though she tried to fight it—it only ended up in her lip being badly slashed in various places—he slid the blade into her mouth.

"Say hi to Dr. Quinzel for me if you're still conscious," he maneuvered it against one corner of her lip and she felt the sting as it bit into the skin, tasted coppery blood from her other injuries. "And one more thing before we get started…Be as vocal as you want, I want to hear you scream." His laughter was dark and Taylor's heart stopped. She didn't have any more time to think on his sinister chortle. The next thing she knew she was screaming and choking on a flood of blood as her cheek tore beneath the sharp blade.

It was indescribable. She would never forget that pain if she was fortunate to live. Nightmares would plague her for years on end, maybe longer. She had a low threshold and before he'd even finished his carving of one side, her eyes rolled back and she fainted into blissful blackness, her horrified, agonizing shriek still echoing in her mind.

* * *

She hummed as she waltzed down the hall to her customary visitation room. For once she was getting there a few minutes earlier. She'd beat the Joker in this time; have time to think up a strategy for the man…ponder that riddle with no distraction.

She felt refreshed and hopeful with a full night's sleep, and her mood was oddly cheery despite the fact that she was no closer to the decoding the Riddler's latest brainteaser. She'd be optimistic about it; she'd come through before. She'd not deny a small terror gnawing her internally, though, but it was dismissible.

Little did she know her life was about to take its first hurtle.

The room was dim as the door opened and her eyes followed the expanse of floor as it was revealed. When the whole room stood before her, Harleen's eyes were brought to the table. Her heart sputtered to a stop in her chest.

Upon the surface was a body. Hesitantly she flipped on the light switch. She held back a gasp as the figure jolted her memory and hurried over to the person's side. Taylor Henderson, a former patient of hers at Gotham West. She was pale, a light sweat covered her forehead and a black scarf was tied over her mouth and chin.

"Taylor?" She called in a normal voice and her anxiety increased when the girl didn't move or acknowledge her with any sound.

_**No…this couldn't be…**_

Harleen was reaching to take the girl's pulse when something caught her eye: a green slip of paper pinned to the teenager's shirt. Harleen wasted no time in ripping it away and holding it to her face. This note was typed just like all the others, showing premeditation.

_Checkmate, Harley Quinn._

_You failed! You failed! You failed!_

Harleen's heart sunk. So this _was_ his plan?! She'd known it the moment she saw the girl. She read the last bit of text.

_Take off the scarf, and there's your surprise. Careful, though, I may not have been very pristine with my knife. You still want to play my game?_

Knife? Harleen stuffed the note in her lab coat and with a swift, but shaking hand tore the bandanna off. Her eyes took in the horrendous sight a moment before her mind processed the information.

The girl's face had been split on both sides from lips to cheek. She'd been given what gangs called a Glasgow or Chelsea grin—the same permanent smile as the Joker. And it was still bleeding profusely which meant it was done recently. Harleen felt her stomach churn.

She'd seen worse at medical school, but those were in photos, on cadavers, on ER victims. This was on someone she knew personally. This one was still fresh. Harleen didn't back away, an action the Joker would have been proud of had he been there, but she brought her hands to her quivering mouth and screamed shrilly.

It had died down to loud gasps by the time the opposite door opened across the cell, revealing a guard and a handcuffed Joker, whose expression centered on her first.

"Dr. Quinzel," the guard began, seeing her distressed expression, but followed her stare. "What the-?!"

Harleen shook her head, "Just-just get me stitches. And," she reached out as the man began to leave, "antiseptic and painkillers…Morphine, lots of it."

The door shut with a loud sound in her ears. She turned on her heels and swiftly left the room as well to retrieve a bowl of warm water and wash clothes. She also had to call 9-1-1. She couldn't let her fear, her emotions affect her performance. The girl on the table needed her and she'd not disappoint; she couldn't stand to.

It was her fault…Taylor was suffering because of her.

The Joker remained handcuffed as he stood staring at the frail girl on the table. Her head was tilted to the side and scarlet drained off her face like water onto the pristine tabletop. He licked the corners of his own mouth as he glared at the female. The Riddler had done this?

He was affronted. The bastard was a copy-cat; how dare he take his own signature and emboss it on someone else. He'd just been a prissy bitch, carving up someone's face to just scare his Harley. If he wanted a message, he could have broadcast the girl's unfortunate picture across all of Gotham.

Amateur.

He figured very little was known about this Riddler fellow by most of Gotham. He was pitiful and the bastard had hurt his little harlequin. She was acting very composed, but that scream revealed the inner turmoil she was hiding behind those expressive baby-blues. He'd said it before; he was really not enjoying someone hurting his girl. Yes, his girl. He hated to see her cry and just yesterday, he'd told her he'd not let her be harmed. Well, then, it looked like he needed to contact his man in the police department to watch Harley, or maybe he could tell her himself. She wouldn't tell; something told him that.

Harleen entered back in with her supplies and set the bowl on the table. She reached in her pocket and pulled on the gloves she had grabbed. Her face was focused; she was pushing her emotions away. The Joker leaned against the wall, and watched her silently for once as she dipped a white cloth in the bowl and began wiping the young woman's face gently.

She gave the guard directions in a monotone voice without raising her head when he came back. He too became an audience to her work. She was quivering on the inside unbeknownst to the guard—perhaps the Joker knew. Every moment was a fight not to break into tears.

She uncapped the needle and after extracting the appropriate amount of morphine injected it carefully into Taylor's arm before setting off to work; stringing the flexible twine she would use to suture the gaping wounds.

Each stitch was precise, calculated and the room was deathly silent save for the sound of breathing from all its occupants. Harley lost herself, forcing herself to focus solely on the placement of the next stitch and listening for any sign of consciousness. It never came as she worked. A part of her was glad of that; she wasn't sure she could hold back her tears if the girl was to awake at that moment.

If only she had been around to sew his own grin. His dark eyes watched her intensely as her soft hands worked so deftly. He'd not cared for the scars; as if he could have then. Plastic surgery could minimize their appearance, but at the time of his own gift, he'd not had the money and now why get rid of them? They were quite the beauty mark.

Did the scars make the Joker who he was? Maybe, maybe not. The truth was there, but he liked watching people wonder whether this was the truth or not. He enjoyed the multiple lives it gave him. He loved to see Harley wondering the same thing as the others. Maybe one day he'd tell her the truth, but not now…no, not while he was in _this_ place.

Besides, the one who had sutured his own wounds had only been out to cause him more pain, but, ah, he'd gotten that revenge. After that he'd not been the same, never the same. His eyes moved up her arm to her face. It was so intense and for the first time, perhaps the very first time he felt a jolt in his heart. Harley's face was a mask, concealing a deep hurt. She was quietly shattering from the inside. He didn't like the change in her attitude. He did not approve of someone causing her to fear her strong, anarchic intuition. She was beautiful as she was now, and if she would just let go a little more it would be explosive. But she shouldn't be pushed like this. No, she was too delicate for that.

Harleen closed her eyes, the final wire in place. She opened them long enough to snip the excess before her hands hit the table. Her head fell and she took deep breaths—she would not break down yet. The ambulance still had to come. Her hands clenched.

Why Taylor? The innocent had nothing to do with her! Even the Joker had more discretion. She didn't even reprimand herself for the thought. It was true. The bastard! Her anger began to grow, she wanted to morph her uncertainty, her fright into something more productive and with each silent moment it turned into a red, fiery wrath.

The Riddler was trying to break her…and it-

A low moan alerted her. Her eyes rose to Taylor's face.

It was working…

The young girl tried to speak, but pain and her sown mouth halted the attempt by Harleen's observance. She stared into the woman's face in shock as her hands hesitantly felt the seams of her mouth. Tears filled her eyes and she whimpered in horror.

Harleen put on her brightest smile. "It doesn't look as bad anymore, and, uh, just think…a little surgery can make the scars almost disappear." She wanted to hold the girl, but Taylor was dramatized enough.

Yet the girl was persistent. She gazed back up at Harley as her attention fell from her own injuries. She raised her hands and began to gesture, gurgling in distress. Harleen tensed her posture in attention.

"You," she spoke as the girl pointed first to herself. "You see…you saw…" Taylor pointed to her eyes. "Okay you saw…You saw…" Harleen jumped. "You saw him?!"

Taylor nodded. "You saw the man who did this to you?" Her tenor sounded encouraging, but then she fell back and hissed lowly. Her face paled and her hands clutched at her side. She groaned in pain.

Harleen's eyebrows furrowed, but it felt like the wind was knocked out of her as she feared further injury. She touched the girl's side. "May I?"

She groaned again. Her color wasn't looking well. Was she going into shock? Harleen wasted no more time and pulled her shirt up slightly.

"He stabbed her in the gut!" She gasped and raised her eyes to the guard. "She's going to bleed out! She's-" Her eyes found the Joker just as the intercom in the room buzzed.

"Dr. Quinzel, did you call the ambulance?" The same small voice from the bomb threat day inquired. Harleen pulled her eyes away and rushed to the blue button. "I did, send them stat! Don't ask questions, just send them!" She ordered and rushed to the girl.

"You're going to be okay," she smiled, but the girl's eyes were going hazy. She shook her head. "Taylor, no! No, stay awake for me a little longer, you can't sleep." She shook her gently and the door to the room flew open and a stretcher rushed in with two men at its head.

"She was attacked by the Riddler. Her mouth was cut open and she's been stabbed in the stomach. She's beginning to bleed out and she's going into shock." She quickly explained, both to recount the incident and to take any undue blame from her infamous patient for the job. The paramedics were staring at him in uneasiness. He may have been guilty of such crimes before, but he was not going to be blamed for one he sure as hell didn't commit.

They may not have believed her, but they nodded and went to work setting Taylor on the stretcher, getting her immobilized. It was a routine they rapidly completed. Harleen was still worried; adrenaline thudded in her ears as she gave a timid smile to the guard, one filled with innocent worry. She knew it would work as her eyes pleaded with him along with her voice, "Would you go with her, to make sure nothing happens, I know the chance is slim, but-"

"My pleasure, miss." He gave her a reassuring smile and a comforting squeeze on her shoulder as he rushed out with the paramedics. Harleen turned her back to the Joker and watched them go. When the door shut completely, blocking out the sound of rolling wheels, her body slackened for a mere moment.

"I should have known he was going to pull something like this…" Her mutter came and then she stiffened again. "The bastard! He's planning on her dying! I hope she makes it through to spit in his face. He wanted to kill her to get at me! I should have known the minute she was on the table. The sick, twisted, son of a-"

She hadn't heard the footsteps behind her and as she ranted and raved, much to both the Joker's amusement and something softer, more fragile within him. He came perilously close to her and raised his still cuffed wrists over her head, letting them fall so he was embracing her.

She was crushed pretty comfortably against him and his unexpected warmth calmed her fury and with slight difficulty she pivoted in his arms. His actions were having the opposite effect they normally had, but she desperately wanted comfort.

To say he was surprised would be an understatement. Still full of intriguing surprises she was. He had wanted to see her lash out at him, and then he would have known she was okay. Well, she definitely wasn't. Her head inclined to stare up at him and he noticed that he could just tuck her head under his chin.

Her soft lips quivered and her eyes misted. "Why?" She whispered and then she clutched his gray hospital scrubs and buried her head into his chest and let it go. She cried, not caring that it was the Joker who she had was seeking serenity from. She didn't care that he pulled her tighter against him, placing his head atop hers. She unhooked her fingers from his shirt and returned the embrace, staining the cotton with salty tears.

He closed his eyes as her arms wound around him as if seeking a pillar of balance. She was pretty shaken up, and he'd not had much experience comforting women, let alone anybody. He had never had a need to reassure anyone. But now, he just held her against him, his mind working awkwardly, but his stance strong. She had never returned any of his gestures with complimentary affection either. It was always acid and reprimands and as much fun as that was, this was rather nice. He wished his hands had been free to better hold the girl in his arms.

The ire stirred by her anguish was a new, possessive fervor. His eyes opened and they stared darkly at the wall. Some retribution was in order. And once he got out, there _would_ be hell to pay.

Harley's body stiffened in his embrace suddenly. He smirked. What a time to come back to her senses…and here he was hoping. Her tears were a torrent, and there was yet more to express, but finally the persistent voice that called itself her rationality made it through.

'Harley, who are you hugging? Like he honestly cares and sympathizes with you. Get a grip!' It chided harshly and she stiffened. 'Oh, cry some more…besides you know you like it here.' She was reluctant to admit it, but the second voice was right. She did like it in his arms, and she shouldn't have felt as secure as she did. He didn't deserve the trust she gave him or the slight flutter she felt as her mind was acutely aware of her contact with him. She was a professional; she had made a huge mistake.

She lifted her head, trying to save face. Her eyes glanced elsewhere lest they give her away. "Ahem, um, thank you, I guess. I just lost it…so I'll be, uh, going now." She took a step back.

Only her quick thinking and experience from gymnastics stopped her from stumbling as her back pulled against the Joker's restraints and the metal chain of the cuffs dug into her body. Well, she felt stupid for that.

"Sor-"

Before her less than pleased apology was uttered, the Joker's hands cupped her bottom—fortunately for him his bound hands were tethered just low enough. Lucky, huh? She was hauled against him once again.

"What's the rush, babe? I rather enjoyed you being so close. Do you know how good you feel in my arms? It's like, anarchy within…I love it." He whispered to her and her face turned dark red. Oh, what had she gotten herself into his time? His lips skittered across her forehead, "And, your pert, little derrière. Mmmm…" Her eyes narrowed. If he did what she thought he was going to do, oh…

One of his hands cupped her bottom lovingly. He tried not to laugh as her lips pursed and her eyes darkened. With a speed he'd never seen she ducked; it was just quick enough to surprise him into loosening his grip. She slipped from his embrace and nimbly backed up.

Well, well, well…

She could be very feisty and fast when she wanted to be. How come she'd never acted this quickly before? He licked his lips. The evidence was piling against her. She was attracted to him, no more doubt about it…now if only she'd let herself believe that. If only she'd loosen her grip on all the rules that hindered her. There would come a time when she would…he could be patient when he wanted to be as well. And something told him to be now.

She glared at him and tilted her head before simply turning on her heel and leaving. She'd had enough and he…He just ruined her day more. Couldn't he have behaved for once?!

'Not his style, c'mon, though…' She brooded, but a side of her had reasoned that while she was still in his arms. And it was happy he'd stayed true to his character. He was still the Joker, but something had changed. Though still lewd and inappropriate, he'd been gentler, even in his voice.

She fought back a girly quiver, but she felt slightly better. And that sat well with her, more so than before, though it was still irritating. She shouldn't be getting these feelings. Maybe some time off would do her good. She didn't think she could come back after today and be okay. She was still numb, taking it all in.

Tomorrow would be worse and she needed to recover from this before she came back. She felt responsible for Taylor's disfigurement and her near death. She decided to visit the girl to make sure…well, that she wasn't dead. Her stomach rolled at the thought.

'Please, let her be alive.' She prayed, her hands quaking and her feet speeding up in her retreat.

Behind her in the now quiet room, the Joker was grinning deviously. She'd looked so…dangerous with that glare and her head angled like that. He wasn't scared, however. No, he was aroused. He giggled; she had no idea just how much _more_ attracted he'd just become.

Harley just couldn't do anything unappealing it seemed. He was getting more and more tangled in her secret web and vice versa, not that either of them realized this, of course.

* * *

Edward had just stepped from the shower into his steamed filled bathroom when the doorbell rang. His sharp hazel eyes rose to glare at the dark oak door before he grabbed his black briefs and a pair of gray sweatpants off the vanity, hurriedly putting them on.

The mist wafted from the tiled, golden bathroom when he opened the door and nimbly descended the wooden stairs to the entry hall of his two floor penthouse. The doorbell rang again.

He pulled the door open and leaned against the frame, running a hand through his damp hair as he smiled disarmingly at his secretary from Nygma Inc. who stood holding a bowl covered by a dishtowel. Well, what an interesting surprise.

"Elisa," his voice was colored with surprise, "is everything fine?"

Normally he would have cared less and only asked out of expected concern, but today had been amazing and he was feeling generous. He'd succeeded in giving his message to Harleen and now he would wait for a while to see what her next move would be. If she had any sense, she'd quit.

"Yeah, everything's fine, Mr. Nashton, I was just worried about you." She blushed, and Edward remembered he was without a shirt, revealing his lean frame.

He smirked inwardly, but tilted his head, "About me, now why were worried about me?" She glanced away in shame, "You didn't come to work today and I tried contacting you, but your phone was off." He backed out of the door and gestured her in. "I'm sorry to have worried you, Elisa. I had a headache this morning and didn't think it would be a good idea coming into work with a migraine."

"Next time," Elisa smiled as she walked in, "you should tell me, I have a home remedy."

"I shall, milady." He bowed in a mock chivalry and Elisa laughed, a not unpleasant musical sound. He grinned and stared at her from beneath his eyelashes. "Is that a home remedy?" He pointed at the bowl she held as he straightened up.

"Not really," she shrugged, "just some homemade soup. I wish I could have brought it earlier, but I just got off work about two hours ago."

"Then just let me take that and you can be on your way," he held out his hands for the bowl, "you have a life, Elisa. Thanks for the concern." The girl had long had a crush on him and he had to admit she wasn't unattractive, and despite being a little naïve she was intelligent. And he was feeling generous, and it would be a lie if he said he hadn't thought about returning her small looks of affection, and now this gesture. She liked him, right?

"I don't want to interrupt your life any further," he smiled. She seemed a little hesitant, and Edward noticed that with excitement. "No, no I can put this down just lead me to the kitchen." She was stalling; he'd take it. He nodded and led her down a small, wood paneled hall into his modest, comfortable kitchen.

"You can put the bowl on the counter there," he pointed and she walked to the spot while he reclined against the frame of the entrance much like he did when he opened the front door. "I'll walk you out to your car, unless," his voice took a husky octave, "you'd like to stay and share the soup with me, I'm sure there's enough. I live by myself so I often don't have company." He stared at her figure with a cocked eyebrow, his body language open and speaking more than his words.

Her face once again bloomed in a cute blush. Edward grinned charmingly. "Then take a seat, Miss, and I'll get us two bowls, I'm excited to taste something crafted by a woman's hand again, being single can be so hard sometimes." He passed her as she made her way to the small circular maple table pushed towards the back of the room.

Edward easily pulled two newly washed bowls from the dishwasher and filled them with soup. This was too easy, and he was having fun seeing her reactions. He brought the bowls to the table.

"You want anything to drink? I have some soda, a couple bottles of beer, milk."

"Soda," she answered awkwardly.

"Would you like me to put on a shirt?" He laughed after he had extracted two cans of cola from his refrigerator. "It certainly isn't very appropriate walking around without one when I have a lovely woman in my presence." Chocolate might as well have been pouring from his mouth at his compliments and her cheeks went cherry. She shook her head, "It's my fault I came without notice, sorry if I surprised you. I looked up your address on the database and I happen to know this area."

He leaned over the table slightly dipping his spoon into the soup. "You looked me up on the database; doesn't that mean that you had to hack into the system?" He chuckled at her wide eyes. "Don't worry I won't tell. That's a skill there." She smiled, "I get bored at work...a friend started me out and I, uh, kinda figured out more from there."

"Interesting," he nodded and for a while she just spoke in between eating and he listened. She needed to get comfortable, and the soup was delicious.

"Did you like it?" She asked, noticing his bowl was empty. Hers was almost there. He nodded, a warm expression on his face. "You make me miss my mom's cooking." He leaned back and watched as she blushed, "Thanks, my grandmother taught me the recipe."

"No need to thank me for the compliment," he shrugged as she finished the last of her own bowl and wiped off her mouth with a napkin. "You're an amazing cook." He leaned over the table and placed his hand atop hers. "I should be thanking you for the soup," he whispered endearingly and noticed how her face unconsciously came closer his. Her lips opened a fraction. She was begging for it and he was happy to oblige.

He angled his head and rising from his chair slightly came closer to her and pressed his lips to hers chastely. Her eyes went wide and then became hooded, his mouth quirked slightly. Her free hand touched her lips. "Mr. Nashton?"

"Should I have not done that?" He asked in mere question. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself."

She glanced at him, but it was with fright, not of him but that she had chased him away. He knew she hadn't minded him doing that. She was just surprised. She stood up and gathered the bowls. "I'll put these in the sink for you. You can keep the bowl and return it to me after you finish the rest of the soup." He watched her, entranced as she moved about. Her lips had been so supple and he wanted to feel them again; it'd been a while since he had doted on a woman.

She hadn't minded his previous action so when she passed him to gather the soda cans he reached out and grabbed her hand. "You can leave them," he said. She nodded and stared deeply into his eyes as if living on his next words. He loved it. "You don't have to leave if you don't want to, Elisa." And he knew what meaning rested behind the words. The only question was would she take the offer?

She stared down at him in disbelief, but didn't move. Edward released her hand and hooked an arm around her waist and gently pulled her closer to him. Still she didn't protest, but her face was flushing again. His other arm locked around her waist and pulled her into his lap so she was seated like a child. His blood was heating quickly. "Stay with me, Elisa," he pleaded softly, "stay the night."

"Mr. Nashton," he could hear the longing in her voice, but there was uncertainty. "I won't ask for anything more than a night with you, if you want." If she gave in, though he knew there would be more nights. He could tell; such was her personality. She still seemed hesitant. He tagged on the line every woman wanted to hear, to know. "We've known each other so long, and I've watched you. You interest me, Elisa. You take my breath." She must have believed him because she maneuvered in his embrace to straddle him in the chair. He hummed in pleasure at their new position. "Call me Edward," he muttered heatedly against the column of her throat.

She stared down at him and licked her lips, but he would let her take the initiative. The wait wasn't long. She leaned down and kissed him softly. He reciprocated instantly and within seconds her fingers were buried in his hair as their kissed became more. She moaned into his open mouth with every caress of his tongue and he pulled her closer to him until there was no way she could be any nearer and her breath was gone. She breathed raggedly as he suckled the flesh of her neck, leaving a mark. He groaned at the sound of his name from her lips.

She would be such a beautiful puppet for him.

He made sure he had a firm grip on her thighs before he began to stand up. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively and their mouths fused again as he carried her from the kitchen and down the short distance of the hall. His bedroom door shut and the click of the lock echoed in the silence of the house.

He would break her so easily and build such a radiant partner from the pieces. He wouldn't regret shattering such a timid mind; she would be better, she would be powerful, and she would be wholly his.

Elisa…his little trickster. She would be his seductive Enigma.

* * *

**_Just a quick thanks for all the reviews! If anyone has some criticisms for me to make this story even better or for future reference if I am inspired for another Dark Knight fic, please feel free to speak. I need all the help I can get. ^^. To those that have offered me some criticisms, you have helped me immensely! Thanks all you readers and reviewers and I hope you're still enjoying this fic. I can't wait to hear your comments on this chapter!_**


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"_**I stared at a land of confusion and unconsciously sealed my fate in an ebony and crimson envelope."**_

* * *

A week had passed; seven days had come and gone, and yet for Harleen it all appeared a blur of news, words, and darkness.

The Riddler now had news attention. He was now becoming a household name.

She'd not returned to Arkham since Taylor's attack—which unsurprisingly remained unsolved. No one had witnessed anything and the girl's assigned drivers had gone missing. Harleen's testimony to the police fell in with all the other short leads of the Riddler case. Oddly, Taylor was the kind hope Harleen had been waiting for. Someone had seen the man's face, but the poor girl had paid dearly for it and by no means had asked for involvement.

Taylor was unable to communicate in anyway; her body had gone into hibernation, a psychologically induced coma caused by the massive amount of trauma and stress she had endured. Harleen couldn't blame her, but at least she was still alive and she would wake-up _**eventually**_.

Yet, it was all her fault…

Harleen shifted in her bed to stare hollowly into the sun-brightened curtains. She couldn't waste away like this in her apartment, wallowing in self-pity. Taylor wouldn't blame her for the ordeal, she told herself, and neither should she, but she couldn't stop holding herself accountable. If she had just let things play out instead of mocking the Riddler, if she hadn't partaken in tracking him as actively as she had then…

'Then what? He would still hunt to hurt you. You can map his mind. Where is haughty Harleen? Where is that determined woman deemed Harley Quinn by her enemies? Where is she?'

She was asleep, hiding somewhere because she'd been burned. She curled up and shook her head. He was winning, the Riddler was winning and she was letting him. She was justified, though right? She didn't want any more people to be hurt because of her. Why couldn't he have targeted her from the beginning? Yet, she knew the answer, even as she desperately asked. She would have fought back like an angry cat. To get to someone you work from the outside in; harm the ones they cared about. What if he attempted to hurt Pam next? She didn't want to risk it. The more and more she allowed the fear to eat at her the more she wanted to quit. She sat up and her hand reached out to grab her cell phone. She would call the Commissioner right away and-

She jumped as the phone began to buzz on her nightstand.

Shakily she picked it up.

"Hello?" Her heart was beating in her throat as she spoke, but instant relief washed over her as she realized it was just Pam from the caller ID. How ironic, she mused; she'd just been thinking about her.

"Harley, are you still in that bed?"

"Yeah, I am," she answered ashamedly.

She heard Pam snort indignantly. "Well you better get up; I'm coming up the elevator now. You and I are having a talk."

Harley sighed; she didn't feel up to this. She knew Pam was coming to talk some sense into her, and a part of her knew it was time, but still, what could anyone possibly say that would pull her from her stupor? She slid out of her bed and plodded from her room, across the living room, and into the kitchen.

She had just finished putting on a kettle of tea when a knock came at her door. She ran a hand through her disarrayed locks as made her way slowly to open it.

"I thought so. You look terrible, Harley."

Harleen gave a soft glare at the chide, but Pam just stood there expectantly. Harley sighed and cleared the doorway for her. The red-head entered into the apartment and dropped her purse on the counter. She didn't take an immediate seat, but instead turned to the blonde.

"You're worrying me. You haven't taken a step out of here since the girl's attack have you?" Harley couldn't lie. She leaned against the wall, and averted her gaze while shaking her head. Pam sighed, "This isn't healthy, Harley. It wasn't you fault that happened to her. That bastard is the one who chose her, not you. He could have gone after anyone else close to you."

"And the result would have been the same." Harleen vowed. "He would have succeeded no matter who his target ended up being."

Pam shook her head, "C'mon, who am I talking to? You're letting him win?"

Harley glared up at her, "What would you do in my situation?"

"Pout until you came and knocked some sense into me," Pam smirked. "You would have given me the same talk, so there; I admit we're both hypocrites. Harley, you can't let him win. He _wants_ you to be like this. He wants you to quit, but do you honestly think if you just drop out of the race he's going to leave you alone?"

"What choice do I have? I don't want anyone else to be harmed."

"No, you don't want to feel guilty for anyone else close to you getting hurt. It sounds bad but, you have to endure it to beat this guy. You knew that he was crazy; you knew that you were going to push him and that he was going to retaliate."

"I didn't think he would hurt anyone else but me, at least not so quickly."

Pam walked over to the shorter woman and wrapped her arm around her shoulder. "C'mon," she guided her to the couch and they sat down. "But he did, and who else can adapt to the new game so quickly, but you? Harley, you're a go with the flow girl. You're as close to chaotic and random as one can get without being illegal. You can handle this. You know you're not at fault for Taylor's attack, and though you feel responsible, it's normal. You know you can't hide away in this apartment all your life. You have to go back to work, you have to continue you live, and you cannot let the Riddler take away your drive. You were always wonderful at improvising, and now the curtains being pulled up for you. You can't crack now."

"And if he hurts anyone else close to me? What if you're next, Pam?"

"Ah, now you don't worry about me. One, I'm not your average, simple girl. He'll get a chase trying to get me. But, Harley, if I was hurt by some average guy, what would you do?"

"Beat them to within a pulp of their life..."

"There's the Harleen Quinzel I know. You have this guy; you have him right where you want him. He only thinks that you're faltering. If I end up getting hurt, I expect to be avenged, damnit. Your friends are your friends, and if they don't like the danger they can high-tail it and leave. I'm staying here, I'll fight with you. No one hurts my best friend and gets away with it."

"He might kill you." Harley said, but Pam didn't answer. She only nodded, but when Harleen's head rose up to stare into her eyes she knew she didn't have to answer. "He better not lay even a finger on you."

"Oh, and why not?" Pam cocked her head to the side. "Is that venom I hear in your voice?" She teased.

"I'll chop his hand off or something. If he kills you, I swear—like you said, no one hurts my best friend and gets away with it." Pam grinned as Harleen attempted to calm down.

"Bingo, see. Now what are you going to do?"

Harley scrunched up her nose. "I need to wash my hair." Pam laughed and soon Harley joined in. "You go and get washed up, then you pick out something pretty, I'll do your make-up. You and I are hitting the town and I've got some connections with GCN. I think you need to publicly advertise how absolutely terrified you are." Harleen grinned at her sarcasm and stood up.

"Thanks Pam, in a way that was too easy for you to do, bring me back, ya know?"

Pam shrugged, "I'm lucky getting you back was easy. Harley you can be one vengeful bitch; I know that you would have recovered on your own, but we need you back on your game. The Riddler is going to strike again, and this city needs you, the average Jane, figuring him out, while Batman hunts him down. Besides, you can't quit the Joker case, I know you wouldn't want to."

The tea kettle began whistling and Harley rushed to the stove to remove it. "You're right, he's one interesting person."

Pam cocked an eyebrow at her, "You don't talk about him a lot, but I know that means you're probably enthralled. How interesting is he?"

"What you saw of his and my interaction is just a taste. He hits on me whenever he sees me. Pam, the guy's even kissed me!" Her cheeks went pink, but her face twisted. Pam watched her coolly. "He's dangerous." Harley shook her head, "I'm not fooled, alright, Red? I watch my back, or at least I know have to. He's not done anything worse since that little slip up in judgment. I should have kept a better eye on him." And technically it wasn't a lie.

When he had kissed her; that session had been the one where he had treaded the most dangerous boundaries. She wouldn't tell Pam about her slight crush; it was just for a bad boy. He wanted to seem charming and then when she gave in he would strike and maybe slash her open. She shuddered, but hid it. Pam didn't need to know anything, especially when it was just the call of an affection deprived mind like Harley's, who hadn't given any long attention to the opposite sex in years, but that was the sacrifice she'd made to get where she was.

"Ok, I'm going to take that shower now, Pam. You help yourself to some tea and we'll get cracking. What should I wear?"

Pam knew she was changing the subject on purpose, but she allowed it. Eventually she would know what was troubling the girl about the Joker. "Something that you can alter to go to a bar with after we visit the Gotham News headquarters," she replied and began to stand up. "So you have a plan of what to say to this guy?"

Harley walked from behind the counter and began to enter her bathroom. "Pam, do I look like a girl with a plan to you?" She snorted, happy to be back. The fire was in her veins again and she felt alive again.

The Riddler was in for a big surprise.

* * *

His hand froze in its path through Elisa's chocolate locks. His once lax body stiffened as his eyes locked on the figure on the television, interrupting the evening news. He tried to stay calm, but he felt his heart thud louder with each moment it took for the camera to zoom in on _**her**_.

Harleen Quinzel.

"Ed," Elisa asked concerned, sensing his rigid body beneath hers as she cuddled with him on the bed, watching the news.

"Hush," his voice was harsh and filled with light fury. It confused her, but she went silent her eyes becoming trained on the television as well. Wasn't this the psychiatrist working with the Gotham Police?

"**This is Mike Engel with a surprise guest, Dr. Harleen Quinzel of the Riddler case. Dr. Quinzel, what brings you here?"**

"**Well, Mike, I know you covered the gruesome disfigurement of an area high school senior by this guy. As everyone at home is aware it was a message aimed as a warning to me. I've decided to step forward and reply to the message."**

"**Dr. Quinzel, you think the Riddler is watching this news station?"**

**Harley shrugged, "Yes, I have no doubt. He wants to see how the public is reacting to his little crime spree. He hasn't done anything else, but the public's attention is caught. He must be insanely thrilled."**

Edward tightened his grip around Elisa's waist. The little bitch, she was treading on thin ice. She didn't appear scared at all. He gritted his teeth as he watched her boldly stare into the camera; stare right at him with a haughty smirk.

"**I'm **_**so**_** scared, Riddler. You hurt a little girl, which so shows your capabilities. You target anymore of my friends, you bastard and I'll personally show you just how vengeful I can be, and yes, and that was a threat. You're wearing on my nerves, and I'll find out who you are once that little girl you hurt wakes up—and she's guarded well so don't even try it. Turn yourself in; end this game before someone really gets hurt. I'm not the only one hunting you. I think you know who else is on your trail."**

"_**You**_** are threatening a **_**criminal**_**? You honestly think this is wise, Dr. Quinzel?"**

**Harley turned and gave a humble smile to Mike Engel. "For me, probably not, but I'm not going to be shaken by a man who has the temper of a spoiled three year-old. I'm going to stay strong and I will defeat him. Bring it, Riddler, because I'm not scared of you yet. I don't think learned my lesson."**

"**And if the Riddler takes your ad-"**

Edward shut the television off via remote and growled, roughly pushing Elisa off him.

"That little bitch!" He screeched and then he turned his gaze to the woman in his bed. She was frozen just staring at him. He had been nice to her, charming, and now she was seeing him irate and furious for seemingly no reason.

He had just gone off; slipped up in front of her. Did she know?

"Edward, um, are you alright?"

Edward sneered, "What do you think? Do I look alright to you?! Do I?!" The woman shook her head. "Then shut up if you already know the answer. Don't ask stupid questions. I don't like that." She curled into herself slightly and he saw her tremble. He glanced at the blank television and then at Elisa, with an impish smile.

"You know don't you now?" Her eyes stared up at him wide. "Do you know who I am? Say it!" She jumped at his sudden outburst. He pounced and towered over her prone body, arms on either side of her head. "You're silence," he twittered, "is rather grating, pet."

"Oh please no," she whimpered and shut her eyes tight. "This is a joke right, Edward? You're not the Riddler." He laughed, "Oh, yes, I just so happen to be. Is that problem for you? You didn't seem to care when you just jumped into my arms, let me touch you. How's it feel to know you give it all up to a criminal? Hmmm? Are you regretting our lustful romps in the sack, _**sweetie**_?"

She shook her head, "No, this isn't happening."

"Yes, it is." Edward grinned, getting closer to her face. She repeated the mantra and he interrupted again. It continued and with every giddy, "yes," he gave he got closer and closer to her until his mouth was hovering right by her ear. Tears were flowing down her face and she was shivering. "I'm the Riddler. You love the Riddler, poor, naïve little Elisa. What have you gotten yourself into?"

"No, no, no, NO!" Her eyes flew open and she kneed the man above her in the gut. She jumped out the bed and ran towards the door, not daring to look back as she heard Edward growl. She heard his footsteps as she grabbed the doorframe.

She screamed when his arms wrapped around her waist and she saw her world spin.

Then she collided with the wall, hitting her head hard. She moaned and crumpled the floor, vision going white. Was she bleeding? What had she done? He had just thrown her into a wall…Oh God…

Her world was a daze. She saw his feet and turned her face up to stare into coldest glare she had ever seen. No longer was there gentleness there, just a smug little smirk. Hatred, black, and consuming stared down at her.

"Where did you think you were going?"

She moaned at his hiss and watched black skittle on the outline of her vision. She felt sick, her head hurt. "Were you trying to escape, hmmm? Now, I might have let you leave if—no, what am I saying? You found out about my secret. I can't let you leave." He picked her up from the floor and cradled her in his arms. "You're going to amazing, Elisa…I'm going make to into a beautiful, cunning, little enigma. You might not think you'll join me today, but you will." He walked from the room with Elisa in his arms, too dazed to fight.

"Why don't you sit in here a while and think about the mistake you almost made?" He opened a door and Elisa saw blackness. She clutched onto Edward's shirt, but he chuckled darkly. "Now you regret your decision? Sorry, poppet, but you have to be punished for trying to escape. If you behave I'll only leave you in here a day…be naughty and I'll up it."

He threw her carelessly into the room, causing her to let go and shut the door loudly. She heard the lock click into place and she screamed, recovering just slightly. Tears began to pour down her face. What had just happened?

With every moment her head stopped hurting and everything became clearer, she had to bit her lip to quiet the rising sobs.

Oh God…Oh God…She shut her eyes, haunted by nothing but darkness and a chilling laugh. Edward was the Riddler, Edward was the Riddler…

* * *

Hazy, scented smoke flooded Harleen's nose as she stared down into the amber liquid of her glass. She swished the container, its contents glittering in the low lights before downing it in one gulp and turned to regard Pam with an amused smile.

One of the bartenders had taken to flirting with the woman, who was having no problem matching quips with him. Harley rolled her eyes; Pam saw it as a little fun. She was always a charmer and if she got free drinks, all the better. Harley just shook her head at the red-head when she turned and gave Harley a wink.

"Disgusting, huh?"

Harley looked at the other bartender who had been watching the two as well. Harley chuckled.

"I think it's funny actually."

The young man took her glass and refilled it. "On the house," he winked and she felt a light blush on her cheeks. "Thanks."

"No problem, it's not often we get a chick in here who can drink the whiskey straight up." Harley downed the shot and grinned, "Well, I'm not your average girl."

"What brings you in here, then?" Harley got another shot. "Celebration, I have weekend ahead of me, and I intend to enjoy it before going back to work."

"Don't like your job?" Harley shrugged, "It's alright, interesting, at least. I'm just happy is all. Today I got over a giant fear."

"Really?" Harley nodded and downed the shot. "Yeah, I'm no longer afraid of tomorrow or the future." The bartender grinned. "Hear, hear to no fear. Not even of that Riddler, guy?"

"No," Harley laughed, "not even of him." The bartender gave another laugh and excused himself to serve a man who had come up to the bar.

Pam sat down beside her, "Having fun too?" She whispered and glanced at the bartender Harley had been talking to. "He's cute."

"Yeah, but he's not my type…You know, I like the scruffy kinda guys. Clean unclean…"

"Dirty hot." Harley laughed at Pam's accusation, but nodded, "Exactly." The woman snickered, "They better watch out for you. You'll turn into a bad woman, yet, watch out."

Harley ordered another drink and glanced at Pam with a smile before repeating a snippet of poetry she had learned in school.

"**But I say it's fine. Honest, I do. **

**And I'd like to be a bad woman, too, **

**And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace **

**And strut down the streets with paint on my face."**

_

* * *

_

_A/N: The snippet of poerty is an excerpt of "a song in the front yard" by Gwendolyn Brooks. I don't own it._


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

"_**For one second he would hold my strings, but his words would shape forever; I was already reaching out and he knew it even as everyone else was fooled, even me."**_

* * *

"Here come old flattop he come grooving up slowly…He got joo-joo eyeball....he one holy roller…He got hair down to his knee…Got to be a joker he just do what he please…"

A melodic feminine voice alerted him as he heard the apartment door open. He raised his head from inspecting the contents of the coffee table. In the light he had turned on when he had come in through the balcony his brown eyes met her shocked, sapphire ones. She was silent, and her face was flushed from drinking.

"Batman?" She finally muttered softly.

"Dr. Quinzel," he nodded.

He was surprised she wasn't demanding angrily why he was in her house. Instead, she just tilted her head and blinked for a moment before walking towards him. "What are you doing here, at," she turned and peered over her shoulder to the neon numbers on her stove-top clock, "two o'clock in the morning?" Her voice held no infliction of accusation.

"I saw your message to the Riddler. I believe you should inform me before you pull something like that again. I don't think it was wise."

She sighed, "You came here to tell me that," he heard the bitterness in her voice, "well, _**excuse me**_ if my confrontation skills aren't to your liking. We can't all be perfect like you. I'm not going to be stepped on." She dropped her bag carelessly to her floor and frowned at him.

"You're asking for him to retaliate again. It will be worse this time."

Harleen smiled in amusement, "I'm aware of that, I didn't go in and just sprout haughty words. I know the danger I'm asking for and I'll be responsible for his next trick. I want to lure him out."

He stood straighter, "This isn't your fight." Her body stiffened at the reproach. "I beg to differ," she scoffed. "He made it my fight when he started calling me out and then specifically sought out one of one of my former patients. Listen, I know you may not agree with it, but I'm not going to sit around and just let him mess with my life. I fight fire with fire."

"And when he comes after you? Then what? Those who play with fire more often than not get burned." Harleen shook her head, "I've already been burned. He took the criminal I'm working with and shamelessly copied his signature in order to give me a message. He enjoyed it and he attempted to kill her! And honestly, you, what exactly are _**you**_ doing?"

"Excuse me?"

"Like you don't know! I'm aware you run around in armor, but in the end you're no different from me. You want to stop him and you're taking this into your own hands! Why can't _**you**_ just sit back and let the police do their jobs?" She was now very close to him, having paced up to him as she spoke. She stood mere feet away, glaring at him.

"Because they need help. I want to help this city."

"And I don't? I want this guy off the streets as much as the police and you. Then I can go to bed at night and not worry about whether or not there's going to be some threat against my or anyone else's life, and the police need help? They wouldn't, you know, if they'd stay clean."

Batman just watched her. "They're doing the best they can."

"No, they're not! They're not! Don't you see it? Commissioner Gordon and Lieutenant Hawkins maybe, but the rest of them are no better. Even with Harvey Dent and all the good he did, they still slipped through. A good fraction of the police in Gotham are no better than its criminals. They haven't been on their game in more than twelve years."

"Something happened to you, didn't it?"

She snorted, "Of course, one would assume something happened to me," she muttered and crossed her arms tightly. Her eyes were trained on the floor. "I was sixteen, sitting in homeroom at the _**illustrious**_ Gotham High. The PTA system came on and our principal gave a toneless report of a tragedy. And you know, growing up in the brighter side of the Narrows, I had seen little violence there, but I wasn't immune, you know? I'd seen plenty at the high school and as I got on the bus to head home, so I was just chocking it up to some robbery gone astray when the principal continued. It was a horror story.

"There was a boy. He was intelligent and a senior at GHS—explains why I never saw him—but anyway, I'll continue. His father was a heavy drinker and often the man would come home in a rage and of course, as the story goes for so many others, he would target the most vulnerable victims, his wife and son. Now the boy was eighteen, no doubt planning to get out of the house as soon as possible; he probably had all these great aspirations, and everything," she raised her gaze to the cloaked man and gestured now as she spoke, "but his plans were stopped dead in their tracks. The night before the father, just like most nights came home in rage, but he was angrier than usual. Maybe he found out that his son was leaving and wasn't going to say anything to him, I couldn't tell you, but the man was in fit.

"There was a big fight and somehow in the fray the man pulled out a knife. I guess the woman got on his nerves. He stabbed her in the stomach, and she was dead on arrival to the hospital. Of course the man was taken in, but the son was never found. I suppose he ran away after seeing that violence. I would have." Her last statement was whispered and her arms fell limply to her side.

"This made you lose faith in the legal system?" Batman asked softly.

"Yeah, it did. People knew, police knew and no one did a damn thing for that boy or his mother. The bastard should have been locked away from the beginning, but _**no**_…no one wanted to put away Henry Napier, renowned business man." Harleen snapped. "No one wanted to tarnish his business's name…He got what was coming to him, though. He was convicted, and I thought justice had been served until I turned nineteen."

Batman watched her facial expressions. They went from a sorrowful grimace to a dark glower, ever changing as it was apparent this story struck a note in her. He waited for her to continue; she wasn't finished and he knew it.

"A Couple years later, Mr. Napier sobered up, used the alcoholism in his appeal, and was put on parole. You can take the man away from the bottle, but you can't take the bottle out of the man. He went back to drinking, but, oh…_**now**_ it was okay because there was no one for him to hurt." Harleen grinned cruelly, "However, the same wasn't true for him. He mouthed off to someone he shouldn't have. He was out of prison for maybe three months when his body was fished from the waters of the bay. He'd been bound, and killed. One gunshot wound to the head, and the murder went unsolved and then it was forgotten."

"And the boy?"

Harleen glanced up at him, "Jack Napier never returned to Gotham, if he did, no one ever knew. He disappeared like a ghost and no one saw him again. No one even remembers him, he was quiet and even though he was smart, he didn't possess a loud personality. I feel bad for him; he fell through the cracks, a victim of circumstance who the police didn't help. There's no records, save a birth certificate of that man. His house, everything burned down the night Henry Napier died, but though it was an eerie coincidence, it was faulty wiring that destroyed the house, not foul play."

"You lost your hope because of this boy's story?"

"Ok, no, but it didn't help. Things got worse, and worse…I grew up here, I've never left. I became a psychiatrist to understand criminals, understand how any man could kill his wife. I never found out, never. I lost my hope in the police department before you showed up…and I still have little faith in them now. I want to have hope in those men, but…I saw a girl almost killed and no one knows who's responsible, sure, there are suspects, but nothing concrete and I feel helpless. I'm dealing with a madman, _**we're**_ dealing with ghost hunt, and there's nothing we can do. So I'm going to fight. If I'm burned, I'm burned, but I'm taking that man with me."

"Didn't you work with the police before deciding you wanted to actually invest yourself in diagnostic psychiatry?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I had faith in the police. I was trying to fix the legal system myself and I guess some difference was made, but my passion wasn't in catching unintelligent criminals. I was told once, I needed to be challenged, and my job eventually became boring so I left the station, but I told them I'd give them help again if ever they needed it. I'll admit things have gotten better in some places, but in more it's become a lot worse. I saw corruption even there."

"This is a different circumstance. You're not dealing with crooked cops here. Taking this into your own hands is dangerous, Harleen."

"Thanks for the warning, but, Batman, aren't you doing exactly what you're warning me against?" She shook her head and laughed softly. "That guy's itching for a challenge and I'm going to give it to him. You should go home. I'm here, I'm safe for now, and I'm not going anywhere. I'll find some way to contact you if he gives me another riddle. I know what I did was rash, and you may think it was thoughtless, but I don't. If you show any weakness to man like the Riddler, he'll pick up on it like a bloodhound. I've got my boxing gloves on, but I'll contact you next time, alright? I'll at least warn you that I'm going to do something, fair enough?"

What could else he do, but nod? He saw how determined she was. She was still rattled, he told himself, that's why she was skewed and bitter. That's why when she spoke she appeared as if lost in another world. She was still recovering, nothing more, nothing less.

That was Batman's first mistake. He saw the chaos licking at her seams, saw hopelessness and reckless abandon reach out spindly arms for her. He saw the first spidery cracks in the mirror of her mind and he did nothing. She wasn't breaking just yet, and it would take a huge push, but the Riddler was capable of such. Would it come down to that, though?

Batman had faith that it would be over soon. He took no notice of Harleen's corroding faith, no notice with how much she was withdrawing from him because, though she had told him much, he couldn't see it. She had said everything that should have warned him, but he didn't want to take the signs. Harleen was intelligent and strong, if not of unique methods.

Too bad her strength would be shattered in the months to come, in one instant, but that's a moment not to concern anyone yet. Batman should have known, but he was only human. Who wants to believe a person who seemed so trustworthy would soon be one of their strongest opponents? Batman didn't, and one has to applaud his stalwart belief in the situation—a pitiful well-meaning applause.

He bowed his head to Harleen who was now silent, seemingly caught in her own thoughts and he turned and strolled out the balcony doors and into the darkness of Gotham to haunt and strike fear into the petty criminals. He was gone when Harleen burst into tears, her last act of fear in face of the event she had been witness to. She didn't know that her fate had been determined, and she too only viewed her words and bitterness as the last effects of her dissolving fear of the Riddler.

She'd be fine come morning with a freshness that belied calm before a thunder storm.

* * *

Monday and Harleen found herself back at Arkham and walking down one of the main hallways. She was being transferred to a new room for her sessions with the Joker; the head of department apparently thought it antagonizing to her mental health to return to the previous room, a decision Harleen was thankful for. Someday she would have to re-enter that room, but not today and she'd never have to have another session in there.

She smiled brightly and glanced above her. She would be on a higher floor and all she had to do now was find the elevator. She turned a corner and the large, hanging sign she was looking for came into sight along with someone she hadn't expected to see just yet—her patient.

She turned her gaze to the murals framed on the walls; maybe he wouldn't notice her just yet, a girl could be distracted, and she could feign interest until she had to look. She kept walking and staring distractedly at the passing paintings. He hadn't seen her yet, he hadn't noticed her, he-

"You _**are**_ back."

It was the guard's voice, the one who had been with her those days ago. Damn it, he had to draw attention to her. She mentally shook off the anger and turned to him with an appreciative smile.

"Tuh-duh?" She raised her arms in a quick pose, pausing minutely before continuing to walk forward.

Should she acknowledge the Joker? She felt his gaze on her as she had a quick mental war.

She'd feel bad if she didn't say something to him and she _**did**_ want to. She turned her gaze to his face, absent of paint as always and gave him a smile as well. "I hope you didn't miss me too much, Mr. J." She commented simply, and though he said nothing, he didn't have to. His eyes seemed to widen and his mouth pulled into a wolfish grin.

She was glad the elevator came into reach then. Her heart had involuntarily jolted and excitement fluttered in her stomach. All these things, she shouldn't have experienced, and yet they happened. She pivoted and hit the up button and as she waited she turned to the guard.

"Thanks for all your help last week."

"Oh, you're welcome, ma'am. Like I said then I think, no problem. You looked so pale, I'm glad you're alright."

Harleen nodded. "You, uh, go on break after transporting him?" He also nodded. "I can take him from here. I have a key to his cuffs." She instantly disliked the condescending grin the man gave her. "I can't do that, Dr. Quinzel, as temptin' as it is." The door to the elevator finally opened. "I understand," she replied and stepped in.

The guard gave the Joker a little push, but the Joker didn't seem too eager to move.

Harleen's forehead scrunched in confusion and then she glanced at the Joker.

"Hey, what are doing?!" The guard exclaimed and used more of his body weight to propel the man. Harleen had been leaning leisurely against the back of the device, but one look at the Joker's expression and she was at attention and moving. She bolted forward, but her trust in the situation failed her again. She had just made it to the doors as the Joker turned around, surprising the guard. He pushed him out into the hallway as the doors shut and Harleen found herself alone with him.

She wasn't sure why her instinct told her to do it, but she was thankful of the warning.

She dashed the short distance to the console and wedged herself there…right between the Joker and the panel. She inclined her head and stared warily at him. He tilted his own and pressed closer to her, crushing her petite frame slightly. He licked his lips and leaned down.

Harleen could feel her face heat up as his hot breath fanned her ear, "Nothing get's by you, huh, _**Doc**_?" And then she felt it, his cuffed hands caressing the skin of her abdomen; he'd stealthily slipped them beneath the hem of her black blouse. "I really wish I wasn't cuffed, I just can't enjoy this fully. Why don't you uncuff me, hm, and let me do all the things I want to? I promise you'll enjoy it. I'm a man of my word." His lips now hovered over the skin of her neck.

Her breath had quickened, and try as she might she couldn't close her eyes or stop the fluttering in her stomach at every movement of his warm hands. She wouldn't uncuff him, she wouldn't be caught like that. The elevator was going to stop any-

The small space jarred as the elevator settled. The sound of the door opening was a sigh of relief. "Get off," she warned. He giggled and backed up; only to be suddenly grabbed by the winded guard who had ran up the stairs.

"Dr. Quinzel, are you alright?"

Harleen turned her head and nodded, her chest falling in a sigh. "Yeah, I handled the situation." She straightened up. "You should be more careful when dealing with him." With that curt reply she walked out, pushing by both men, and led the way down the hall to the new session room. She entered the code and held the door open for the guard to escort the Joker in.

"Do you want him uncuffed?" He asked uncertainly, what with the incident just moments before.

She nodded at his hesitant inquiry and then bid him adieu as he left. She couldn't blame him; the man was apparently scared to death. He had been breathing deeply as he burst into the small elevator compartment and pulled the Joker out. She had handled it, though, and she would not think about how much longer she could have controlled that situation.

She glared at the Joker as she turned her gaze to him. He was seated comfortably at the table, his smug grin made wider and more sinister by his scars, but she wasn't afraid. She was infuriated. She took a couple stiff steps towards the table and then the man burst into his loud, boisterous laughter.

"Not funny, what were you trying to pull?" She leaned over the table, her dark glower showing no amusement. He glanced up at her through his lids. "This," he answered simply and pointed at her, "you flustered and angry with me. Arkham's just so boring without ya. You asked if I missed ya, and I did, oh I did."

She shook her head and growled under her breath. She wasn't really angry at _him_, but at herself. If that situation had went on—no, she wouldn't have uncuffed him. What would he have done? Crushed her to death? At that prospect she allowed herself a little smile, but then she went back to a wary expression. "Were you trying to stop the elevator between floors?"

She took out her sleek, black tape recorder and placed it on the table, something she hadn't done before, but despite (or maybe because of) who her patient was she didn't feel like sitting down yet. She felt restless. The Joker glanced down at the device before staring up at her as she straightened taking a quick stare around the new stage for their play.

"Yes, I was trying to, but then a cute little temptress of a woman distracted me. Want me to tell you about—never mind I'm going to tell you about her anyway." He leaned over the table and stared straight into her eyes. "She's a small little thing, but she's got this dynamite attitude and she's so spiteful and spunky. Beautiful wheat gold hair and expressive sky blue eyes, and this full and luscious mouth I want to taste so bad. And her body," he closed his eyes and shivered, "I don't think there's anything I've ever wanted more." He licked his lips as his husky voice continued. "Stunning legs, and the body of a dancer-"

"Gymnast."

His eyes shot open at her flat reply. She had her arms crossed. "If you're going to go on about this woman, you should at least know the facts. I was a gymnast."

He smirked, "It doesn't matter, it just means that she has a toned, curvaceous figure for me to hold; a nice ass for me to watch, and she's very _**flexible**_." He popped the last word darkly and rubbed his hands together atop the table. Why wasn't she stopping him? Wasn't this making her uncomfortable? He wanted to hear her go off again, but this, this could be even better. He dared a bashful glance her way. "Want me to talk about her breasts now?" He ventured. And he saw it, her lips thinned, but she was still as a tree. Oh, so this was the game she was playing? She was trying to feign indifference.

He grinned wider. Well, it looked like he found a soft spot. "I do want to touch them... I would take that woman anywhere, anytime if she wanted. I want to know if that fiery attitude is an exterior or it affects all aspects of her life. I want an active bedmate, if you catch my drift. I want her…I want you bad."

She pulled the chair opposite of him out and sat down. Her eyes were dark in anger, and he was filled with delicious anticipation. His wait wasn't long.

"Really, well let me tell you about this spastic jerk that I know." She gushed out and her hands clenched in her lap, where the Joker couldn't see them. "He's tall and lanky. He's got brown eyes like mud and this sandy hair that looks like he never takes a shower. I know you're thinking, 'sounds like a normal guy to me,' but no, you can't miss him. He's got these scars that give him a permanent smile. He loves to hit on me and often openly laments the fact that he cannot get into my pants, and I'm his _**doctor **_for crying out loud. You know he has all these stories about how he got his scars, but I have my own theory."

The Joker raised a brow, "Do ya, sugar, tell me."

"I think you had a wife, but you see you just couldn't resist the ladies. I mean we're pretty, right? Shapely, something to charm and play with, so you decide that your wife's not giving you enough attention, and there's a woman at the supermarket that's had her eye on you. She's beautiful. Buxom, with long, curly raven hair and these cute little gray eyes and such pouty lips always painted a bright crimson. She's a doll, so you invite her over.

"Your wife's at work and you don't have to be in for another three hours so what's a little pleasure before the grind of the day, huh? You're both at each other from the moment the door into your modest little house is open. You're ready to go so you just get her on the couch and you're having a jolly good time. But you see there was an accident," Harley nodded to herself, "at the workplace and your wife's sent home early."

"Yeah? What happens?"

Harley stared at him in mock surprise, "You mean you don't know? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. She comes home, happy wanting to spent a lovely time with her husband but when she opens the front door—it was unlocked, which threw her off—she sees her husband on the couch with another woman. First she's just shocked and it's enough time for you and your little sweetie to cover up and gawk like guilty teenagers caught in the act—you might as well have been—before she's slowly walking into the house. She glares at the woman and begins to scream. You're so flabbergasted that you were caught, you're not paying attention and before you know it you're in the house alone with your angry wife."

Harleen was amazed how quickly this story was pouring from her lips, although she was angry she gave that feeling only a slight acknowledgement. She placed her hands flat on the table and her stormy eyes flickered to the tape recorder and then right back into the Joker's expectant face.

"You're not totally naked, you got your pants still on—you were in such a hurry you didn't manage to get them off. You're pulling them up as you try to explain to the woman you married why were sleeping around. Of course, what can you say? You smile pitifully and fall into the whole 'I'm sorry, baby, I'll never do it again…I was lonely, we aren't as intimate as we use to be…' You sound like a woman, but she's not buying it. She fumes and stalks into the kitchen and you're left zipping up your trousers before you attempt to follow her.

"You walk in and she's leaning over the counter, back to you. You go to whisper nothings in her ear when she hounds on you. 'Did you have fun with her, J?' You're speechless. 'Was she any good, hm? I saw your smile. Why aren't you smiling now? I always loved your smile. And I'm sure she did too; it's rather irresistible you know' You have your arms around her by this point, face in her hair, hoping to all that's good that you haven't lost her. You don't see the knife in her hand. She barks for you to get off her and you let go and it's just enough for her to turn around and slash your lip. You fall to the ground surprised and she dives in on you, laughing. 'Now let's see if another woman will kiss your lips, _**love**_' and she carves your permanent grin, forced to wear a mock grin as if enjoying yourself."

The room was filled with silence for a moment before the Joker raised his hands and began clap. "That was beautiful, utterly amazing. May I use that one? Wow, Dr. Quinn, you really know how to captivate me. I'll tell you, though, if you were my wife I wouldn't cheat on ya. You'd be too much fun. I can see it. That tale was superb and you just made it up, you've got potential, and I love it."

Harleen had to stop her pulse from pounding in her ears. She had been so incensed. How dare he talk to her like that, make such quips about her body, such lustful, appreciative quips! She hated him, hated him because her heart was pounding in excitement not anger. She was a wondrous actor. She was breathing deeply. "I'm so glad you liked it." She spat. "You finished voicing your fantasies now? I'd like to actually be a doctor today and talk about some of your experiences."

"You promise to always get this mad, puddin'?" He batted his eyelashes.

Her eyes narrowed, but she took a deep breath. "You want to tell about the Ferry incident three years ago? I've always wondered about that."

"Wow you have such tact." He laughed, but Harleen just stared at him. He sighed, "And the fun ends for now. You're really not mad at me, you're more angry at yourself. I can tell by the quick jabs, you have a different inflection in your voice."

She scoffed, "You wish."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Stop lying to yourself babe, and this would be much easier, although," he puckered his lips in thought, "I do love your playing hard to get," he licked his lips, "makes the anticipation all the sweeter. When you finally give in, I know it's going to be explosive."

Harleen rolled her eyes, "The ferry scare. You rigged two ferries with massive explosives in predicting that since you blocked off the tunnels the mayor would order evacuation through those. And you say you don't plan?"

"Predictions and plans are different. I rigged the tunnels to blow in case people thought I was kidding and the only way other way to escape is by water. And I knew the people would run; they were like scared animals."

"What about the criminals from Blackgate? Did you know they were going to be carted on a ferry too?"

"Harley, you remember when I told you I had men that serve me even though I'm here?"

"Yes."

The Joker smiled, "The same was true then, toots. I rigged both ferries to blow and then when my boys discovered that the inmates were on one, the stakes got interesting. I mean, I figured they'd get the inmates, but it's just so funny when they live up to your expectations. They should have left them in the prison."

Harley realized this was more than he had ever revealed to anyone. That stuck her strangely, but she continued along her line of questioning. "So you set up this social experiment and when neither boat set off the other charge, you were disappointed. You were proven wrong."

"I'm not sure about being proven wrong. A little surprised, though. I was hoping one of the boats would have the balls to set off the other. I told ya, they were scared, and they just couldn't lived with the guilt. Besides I lied for the very first and only time."

Wait. What? Harleen's confusion colored her face and before she could open her mouth to question him he was answering. "Those charges weren't all set with combustibles. Only one and the rest were harmless water. They would have made a loud noise and maybe damaged the engines, but no one would have been hurt. I didn't want to kill that many people, who would have been left to watch me, hm? And besides I just wanted to face off Batman again."

"You weren't going to blow the boats?" Harleen gawked.

"I'm glad to see there's so much confidence in my heartlessness." He did sound rather cheery about it. "Nope, like I said for the very first time I lied. I said I was going to blow them sky high and if anyone tried to escape then they would all die, but I wouldn't have—I would set off the charges, but like I said no major damage. I just wanted see how much they could take till they broke. What, did the police never tell anyone what they really found?"

He laughed, "I guess they didn't want anyone to feel humiliated…or maybe that they themselves didn't want to feel stupid. The human mind is so complicated at times, and I think I know it well. You know we both have that in common, Doc—reading people."

"Please," she replied impassively, "don't compare me to you. I hardly think there's much evidence to support that I'm anything of the sort."

"You call yourself an agent of chaos," he pointed out. Harleen shrugged, "So? I have it tattooed on my back too. I'm an agent of chaos, but unlike you, I get my kicks legally. I don't blow up buildings or break into fund-raising parties, I don't—what are you doing?"

The Joker had reached across the table and was fingering the tape recorder. "Do you really listen to these?" Harley cocked her eyebrow. How was this relevant? She nodded, however, "Yes, I do. I take notes from them, since I'm not allowed to have any writing utensils in here with you. You should know that."

The Joker rolled his eyes, "Duh," he laughed. "But you know, I'd never, uh, ram a pencil through your eye or anything. You're different from the rest." She ignored that and allowed him to pull the tape recorder to his side. He began to play with it, sliding it back and forth between his hands. That would sound interesting later tonight. "Am I boring you, Mr. J?"

"No, you'd know if you were," he replied, eyes focused on the recording device he continued to pass, "I'd tell you. And Mr. J? You used that earlier. I like the way it sounds coming from your lips." Once again she chose to ignore the suggestive statement. "Why did you tell me all that about the ferry," she asked instead. He raised his eyes to hers.

"Why not? There's nothing to lose to by telling you something the police already know."

She supposed, but he hadn't told any of his other doctors that. Was he telling the truth? She would call Gordon and question him later. Yet, what did he look to gain by lying to her? He wasn't getting out. Why did he have to be so confusing? Why did she want to believe him? Well, she was his doctor, and she was taught to trust the information of her patients, until proven otherwise. That was it. Well, that was simple. She was relieved by that, but her inner musing had distracted her.

She was awakened from her reverie by something hitting her chest. She jarred and glanced down and watched the tape recorder clatter to the floor under the table, but not break. Harleen looked up at the Joker.

"Oops." He grinned guiltily. He'd meant to do that she just knew it. "I'll get it." He pushed the chair from the table and slid into the floor. He'd get it? Oh hell no!

Harleen pushed her chair away from the table as well. He was planning something, and she wouldn't be caught in it. She stood up and simply took a step backward, only to freeze when his hand enclosed around her ankle. So much for that. All the air rushed from her lungs in exhilaration as she was pulled forward and down. She shut her eyes, expecting a rough impact and tried to catch herself, but a pair of arms broke her fall just as she felt the end of her descent draw near.

She opened her eyes as she was placed gently on the ground. The Joker hovered over her, staring down savagely at her. "Dr. Quinzel, we really have to stop meeting like this."

She gritted her teeth. "You bastard! Get off!" She brought up a clenched fist and swung at his arrogant face. He caught her it easily, "Too slow. Now, now, I love it when you're feisty, but, Harley, I really missed ya." He cradled her hand in his palm for a moment before bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly and placing it on his shoulder.

What the hell was he doing? She told herself it was shock that froze her body, not a sudden euphoria that made her not want to move; that was just preposterous.

He watched her expression, blank and stiff as he took her other hand and pressed it to the side of his face, against his cheek. She could feel the scars beneath her palm. She gulped and met his gaze. "I'm not going to hurt you, Harley." He promised holding her hand to his cheek and leaning down. Her fingers at his shoulder clutched into the fabric of his top, whether in anger or fear or some other emotion she wasn't sure. "I'm going to kiss you."

Had he told her that so she would turn away? She didn't and he watched her expression as he slowly leaned down and his lips brushed hers. It wasn't hungry, it was gentle as if he was hesitant himself, but once he had one taste his mouth pressed against hers more

fully. It still wasn't rough and the rational part of Harleen's mind was unplugged.

She inclined her head slightly and returned the pressure, blood heating her face and sending a tingle down her spine. The Joker smiled against her lips, "Mmmm," he hummed and let go of her hand; it fell beside her head while hers stayed there on his cheek. His eyes closed and hers followed.

His mouth then became more ravenous, but it was Harleen that surprised her own self and him. The hand on his shoulder moved into his hair and she parted her lips. The sound released from his throat then was a contented growl and his own hands wrapped around her waist and cradled her head as he held her closer, obliging her unspoken request. He delved into her mouth and plundered it sweetly.

She was dynamite to kiss. He knew the longer his lips stayed fused to hers and their tongues battled the more fond he would grow of her and her wily ways. She was his sweet temptress and he would enjoy her moment of rebellion against rules and show her his full approval. He had no doubt she would come to her ethical senses eventually, but now despite all her denial, he would know the truth.

Harleen Quinzel was attracted to him; and if the little and delicious moans she was giving off herself were any indication, he was doing his job in reciprocating that attraction.

When her kiss became weaker he pulled away and stared down in lust at her. She smirked at him, her chest rising and falling deeply as she caught her breath.

It was beautiful, but his view was short-lived. She snapped her head up and slammed it into his. He snarled in a combination of laughter and anger—pleasure and pain winding together. He felt her slide from beneath him and when his vision returned she was just finishing a stumble to the intercom. She stared fixedly at him in dark satisfaction as she pressed the intercom button.

"This is Harleen Quinzel, I need a group of men up here to place my patient in a straightjacket. He's decided he wants to be uncooperative and…violent."

"Right away!" The voice replied in shock, maybe because she was even able to make it to the intercom.

"I told you," she tilted her head, "that if you continued in your behavior that I would use more drastic methods. You crossed the line." She shook her head and he stood up, dusting himself off.

"You're playing dirty, Harley Quinn," he rolled his shoulders and touched his head. "Very dirty," he took a step forward, "but I like it." He took another step and grinned ferally. "Who kissed who back? Hm? Who let me ravage their mouth? Who seemed to enjoy it?"

And even as she lied it was confident. She snorted, "It was a distraction. Give you what you want and then change dispositions when least expected." He lowered his head and chewed on the inside of his mouth. "You drive me crazy, Harley. You make me want much more than just your lips."

She sneered, and he saw her bristle in her own denial. She could reject it, but they both knew the truth, even while her pride was still strong. Yet, the taste of her chaos he'd just had was like meat for a starved dog. He wanted more.

Two strong wills colliding, one adamant in the truth and one in denial. The truth always prevailed; it's been said, but how long until this truth was finally shared? He could wait, he would wait, and he deliberately and lustfully licked his lips to get the message across.

Then the doors opened and the men came in, carrying his straightjacket. Oh, how he had missed the attire. He laughed, and his dark eyes never left Dr. Quinzel as he was bound.

* * *

Tires screeched on the pavement and the narrow road from the Gotham Docks was interrupted by the shape of two large bank vault trucks speeding away, lights bright.

The crooks within could think they had gotten away with the heist they had just pulled. They could think that the captain and guards of the barge they had just robbed would idly sit by, forgotten only be discovered the next morning. They could be smug all they wanted, but they were wrong. Eyes had been watching them as they sped away, and their owner knew.

The two vehicles surged through traffic, cars honking, swerving at their blatant recklessness. Within the second truck a celebration was occurring, or at least attempting to occur.

"Oh yes! Without a hitch! Those guys didn't know what was coming to them, eh?" The passenger pumped his fist, platinum tuffs of hair glistening in the passing orange glow of street lamps as they stuck randomly from beneath his black ski mask; he looked in his late teens.

The driver didn't reply, only kept his eyes on the road, but that did nothing to deter the boy. He glanced in the back of the truck at the gray barrels they had gathered. His brown eyes were filled with excitement.

"A quarter ton of ammonium nitrate. What's boss plannin' to do with all this? Blow up a bank or something?"

"I don't know, but don't be celebrating yet, kid. We still got to get this load to the warehouse." The driver finally mumbled gruffly. The boy crossed his arms and nodded, "Yeah, you're right Evan."

The driver reached forward and grabbed the receiver of the CB radio from the dash. He pressed the button, "Dennis, you and Frank head down Steeling Drive now. Nathan and I will take Duncan here in five, got me?"

"Yeah, yeah, Evan," another male voice replied over the radio after a few seconds, "ten-four."

Evan hung up the radio and focused his attention on the road. Nathan, the boy, was now silent, watching the streets pass by through the tinted windows. Within the cab they could hardly hear the screech of cars and other vehicles dodging their hulk.

A good question was, where were the police? Right on time, apparently.

From behind them sirens began to blare. Evan grinned and took a cigarette out of his pocket, and lit it. "Nat, get on the radio and tell them we're gonna be a little late." The boy grinned. "Aright! High speed chase!"

Evan hit the gas, his green eyes strident against the orange of his own ski mask. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and swerved onto a side road. Losing the cops would be easy. Evan knew these streets like the back of his hands.

Nathan fingered the gun in his pocket, but knew there would be no need for it. He sat back and listened as the cars sang in their sirens and felt as the truck bolted. He bit his lip and opened his eyes to colors and speed. He laughed and Evan grinned. "Chumps, we'll lose 'em, nothin' to it."

And they did. Within minutes the truck was stationary in a dark tunnel, on the far side of the Narrows. The police zoomed by and then slowly the sirens faded. Nathan clapped his hands.

"Evan, alright! That was amazing! Let me do some celebrating for that! You lost them so easily! You are the best, brother!"

The older man grinned and leaned over rubbing Nathan's head beneath the mask. "Soon we can get out, and Mom's bill will be paid. Everything will be alright. Now let's get this stuff to the warehouse, ok?"

"Yeah, let's go." He grabbed the CB radio, "We're coming, now, guys," Nathan spoke and Evan turned the key in the ignition. It was then that the dark vehicle came into view. The cigarette fell from the elder brother's mouth. "Shit!" He exclaimed both as the butt burned through his pants and as the vehicle barreled into the tunnel.

"Is that-" Nathan gulped. "Batman?!"

The vehicle, a newer version of the Tumbler stopped in front of the truck.

"Get out of the car, and put your hands up. Let's do this easy, ok?"

Nathan and Evan glanced at one another. "Keep your gun and I'll keep mine. We can't be caught." The older ordered and the younger nodded. They opened the doors and slowly stepped down from the vehicle. They slowly began walking towards the sleek, jet black tumbler.

The top opened and Batman appeared. He stood up in the seat and Evan waved his hand almost unseen at his side. Nathan nodded once and stopped. He pulled out his gun and opened fire. Batman easily dodged.

When would they learn it would take more than some amateurs with guns? Evan too pulled out his own. He was a better shot and followed Batman with his eyes.

"Don't waste bullets, Nat!" Nathan stopped firing and Batman stopped dodging. Now it came to a stare down. "Drop the guns and this can end quietly. What were you doing?"

"You know, Bats, making some dough carting some stuff for our boss." Evan shrugged, but didn't drop his gun. "What's in the truck?"

"None ya business, ya freak," Nathan sneered. "Just hop back in your fancy car and we can pretend this never happened. We need this job so go away, or the Riddler won't like it none!"

Batman glanced at the younger boy, "The Riddler?"

"Yeah, you don't want get him mad, or haven't ya heard."

"What's in the truck?" He asked again and Evan raised his gun as he focused on his brother. The shot echoed in the tunnel and Batman groaned, but wasn't too rattled; it was a wound to the shoulder. "How 'bout we take ya back with us and you'll see?"

Neither thug had blinked before Batman had Evan on the ground, kicking his gun away.

"What's the Riddler planning?!"

"Hey get away from him!"

"No, Nat! You get in the truck and go! I ain't gonna talk. Make me, manbat! Go, Nat!"

Nathan glanced at his brother and then Batman with his gun still raised, "Sorry, Evan, but family first! Get away from him."

Batman slowly began to turn around. He raised his hand nearest the younger thug and made as if to raise his other hand. In an instant there was a sound and Nathan fell to the ground, nursing his cheek, his gun dropping to the ground. Batman had released his bat-a-rangs. He grabbed Evan and dragged him over to Nathan, kicking the younger's gun away as well.

"You want to tell me what's in the truck now?" He asked, wincing as he handcuffed them both, interlocking the cuffs to each other.

"We ain't telling you shit, go look for yourself." Nat spat, but Evan nudged him, "It's a quarter ton of ammonium nitrate." Batman's eyes widened and he walked away from the two and entered the cab. His eyes focused into the back at the bins.

Slowly he maneuvered into the back and pulled out a flashlight from his belt. Reading the labels, he found the thugs had been right. What would the Riddler need with ammonium nitrate and where was the other truck? Had they already made it to the place and dumped the goods? He cursed under his breath, but wasn't allowed much more time to think as sirens once again sounded distantly. The police were coming back.

Batman quickly left the bank truck and stared at the thugs. "You shouldn't be messing with a man like the Riddler. Don't go back if you're let off by the police; that man's demented and you're lucky to be caught. Find legal jobs; I better not see you pulling heists again!" He began to walk away, throwing a flare down as he went.

He climbed back into the Tumbler and sped off, dialing on his cell phone.

"Bruce?" He smiled beneath his mask at the sound of his wife's beautiful voice. "Can you tell Alfred to page Commissioner Gordon? The Riddler's hording ammonium nitrate."

"Yes, I can tell him. Gosh, Bruce, I wish I was out there with you."

"I wouldn't want you to be, I'm glad you're still recovering from the baby. How is Thomas, Kitty-cat?"

"He's fine, hungry as ever, but I think he misses his dad." Bruce laughed at that, but then winced, and it made it into his voice. "What's wrong?"

"Selina, get out the first aid kit, some thug shot me in the arm…I think the bullet went through, but it hurts like holy hell."

"I'll be glad when Batman is no longer needed."

"I will be too."

"I'd better go tell Alfred and get the bandages. I love you, you'll be home soon?"

"Love you too, yeah, I'm coming."

And he shut the phone and looked up into the Gotham sky. Would the day when Batman wasn't needed ever come, or would he be forced to retire first? He didn't want to think about it and he rode on into the dark night.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

"_**I could hear it: the winds of unstoppable change were howling and I was standing straight in their cycling path; I should have ran, but I couldn't as I heard the whisper of my name..."**_

* * *

Unseeing, dazed, and silent; emerald irises stared blankly from a pale, beautiful face framed by brown curls. Moonlight filtered into the room as the owner lie immobile, just staring. Outwardly she appeared frail and broken, but within she burned with flames ever growing.

Elisa had been imprisoned in a darkened closet for days, yelled at, psychologically abused, and—the briefest flicker lit her eyes—physically abused. Apparently she had been "naughty" and Edward had been riled in the days before. That woman, Harleen had foiled his plans, Batman had foiled part of his plans, hell maybe she had even foiled his plans. She inwardly scoffed, how pathetic—or at least one would think—but Edward had the short fuse, strength, and madness to bite back. She'd come to be thankful for what hadn't befallen her, and yet at the same time she felt a turmoil rage within her and her eyes rolled upward. They found Edward who held her close to him in the darkness.

In the ethereal light his countenance was peaceful, gentle even. Elisa's lips twitched in inner disgust. How fooled she had been. This innocence almost melted her cooling heart, as did the tender way his arms embraced her middle. Too bad it was all lies only whispered by slumber; the truth was grandly different. There was no beauty here anymore. She had been shattered and, though he wanted to take the credit, Edward had had no hand in rebuilding her.

Hate, sudden and engulfing after days of fear, guilt, self-pity, and torture had reconstructed her. She had become the Enigma, but not his, though she was only too happy to allow him to be diluted to his fancy. She grinned and moved in his arms, pulling herself upward to gaze into his slumbering face.

'_I_ _follow him to serve my turn upon him_, as Iago so bluntly puts it. He may think he possesses my heart and mind, but my will is not his nor any other part he muses to own. Poor, poor Edward, what have you unleashed in your hurry to create your Enigma?'

Her thoughts were anything but as soft and aery as her face portrayed. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. The bastard was sinking his teeth in so seep that he had gone as far as to send a letter of resignation to Nygma Inc. for her. She wanted to repay him for all his _help_. She didn't want this! She hated him! But, alas what could she do? She grinned devilishly; how sweet were the uses of adversity. She would toil with him, make him think that she lived upon his every word and kindness, but oh, how much more she would come to despise him.

Please him now and destroy him later. She would build a beautiful illusion and run only when the time was right. She had learned from every bruise, every caustic word, and every drop of blood. Naïve Elisa was no more, she would be the Enigma and the Riddler would fall, somehow someway. She would escape this life, but not without first causing the man pain.

Oh, how similar they were becoming, only to her the poles were rejecting one another. She may have been fond of him before, but now her heart was a pool of black, winter's water for him.

A hand on hers brought her mind from its plots, but she would not be angry for the interruption. No, why when such opportunities were offered?

Edward stared up at her hungrily. He grinned.

"Can't you sleep?"

She shook her head and stared up at him demurely—all in mock—and he pulled her closer, lustful lips seeking her own. She may not have been the alpha, but she was a wolf. She would allow him the mirage of control, but she felt that he who trusts in the tameness of a sleeping wolf is mad.

He maneuvered above her and she closed her eyes. Order to cause chaos, venom in her tender countenance; she opened her eyes and stared up at him in equal hunger: the lust to tear him apart.

* * *

"No," Harley spoke calmly into the phone as she entered into the room, her eyes glancing upwards at the Joker, sitting in his usual seat, uncuffed after a week of restraint.

He stared up at her as she waltzed in, a black bag slung over her shoulder.

"Is that a good sign, Commissioner? He's not replied yet—no, no, no I'm not saying that. I agree. I think he's still out there." She sighed, "Fine, yes, it's bad news. It means he's planning something big. Yes, I'm aware of the heist." Her face paled. "How much ammonium nitrate?"

The Joker's forehead furrowed. What? He turned his attention back to just studying Harleen, however—not the conversation.

"You're joking. Well, that's some good news. Yes, yes."

She sat down before him and bent over. When she straightened up she was pulling a sleek, black laptop from her bag. She opened the top and within seconds was typing quickly. She shifted the phone to her shoulder and held it there with a tilted head.

"Yes, half of the shipment, got it. What else? Broke into another electronics firm...left a calling card? A green card with a question mark...alright. Mm-hm, got that too." She nodded and continued to type. Finally she hit a button. "I'll look over this and give you my reasonings before the evening is over. Of course, Commissioner, yes, you too." She clicked the phone shut and stuffed into her pocket and then closed her laptop and placed it gently back into her bag.

"Sorry," she said to the Joker, who raised an eyebrow at her. She returned the gesture and turned on her recorder in her pocket. She hadn't taken a chance placing it on the table since a week ago. She offered him a gentle smile. "What no, 'Afternoon, Doc'? Or something a little more on the lewd side?" She placed her hands on the table top.

He gave a furtive smile, "Now, there's my Harley. You've been so boring and simpering these past couple days. I didn't hurt ya before did I?"

Harleen snorted, "Well, forgive me for attempting to be professional, but I'll be honest here." The Joker nodded sympathetically. "I," Harleen placed her hands to her forehead, "was flustered. I wasn't sure how to come and hold myself after the _**interesting**_ situation I found myself in. You got me," she shrugged, "and then I decided that what you think or decide to act upon shouldn't affect me in the least. If you want to be counteractive, then I'll have to be too."

He lowered his head and licked his lips, "I'm liking the sound of this tactic, doc."

"You would," she crossed her arms. "So let's begin today's session and see where that takes us in an hour. Let's talk about," she glanced around the room and then back at him, "Harvey Dent."

"Good 'ol Harvey," he grinned, "you've become really interested into my crime spree lately. What happened to the days when you'd walk in comment on something or I asked you something and it turned into the basis for our whole session?"

"I got curious," she replied simply, not revealing in the least that she was actually still uncomfortable being in the same room with him. He was now unrestrained; something within her had not enjoyed his caged state, though he had found it quite hilarious. He had been impressed that she was not making empty threats.

He couldn't wait to get his hands on her again, and if she knew this, she did not acknowledge it.

"Actually, I wasn't in Gotham when you decided to take your anarchic waltz. I was away on a personal trip. I missed your crime spree, so now that I'm your doctor, I think I need to know about it all. Hearing it from your side would be more beneficial than just reading the reports in your file."

"You weren't here?" Harleen shook her head, "No, I suppose that's another reason they hired me. I'm a neutral party." The Joker laughed, "No wonder you're not as afraid of me as you should be."

"I've seen all your broadcasts, your work, everything, now of course it doesn't have as much of an impact with you not out on the streets anymore, but I have seen it. Should I fear you?"

"Don't you?" He grinned.

"Yes, but probably not as much as you believe I should. So Harvey Dent? Want to tell me about the little charade you played with him?"

"I was carted off to jail, and I sent my boys to take the clean DA and his little sweetie and rig them both to explosives, and this time I wasn't lying. They were definitely set to explode unless they were saved. Now, the ones who made a mistake here were my boys. Don't worry they paid for it later."

"Your boys made a mistake?"

"Yeah," the Joker leaned back, "you see I told Batman the right addresses for Harvey and Rachel, but my boys switched them up. Maroni's men are idiots too, but back to the story. I think they wanted to look smart, get some credit from me, but you know, I really hate it when someone I gave orders to doesn't follow them, and even more when they change the plan without telling me. You see I knew Batman would go after the girl—he had feelings for her, ya know. But now, everyone thinks that I lied on purpose. I'm a man of my word, always have been. They may see a criminal, but I do have some guidelines, not rules per se, just preferences. I don't rape and I don't lie on purpose unless it would make a good show—like the ferries."

"Those sound like rules to me." Harleen stated and stared into his eyes.

"There are no such things. If there were, no one would break them. You may call these laws that you follow rules, but they're broken so easily."

"And people are punished for them, like you are at this moment by being here in the Asylum."

"Sharp as a whip today aren't you? Want to know something no one else knows?"

"What? About your handiwork with Harvey?"

The Joker waved his hand, "It's practically over. Because of false information, they went to the wrong place and Rachel was blown to smithereens and Harvey's face was forever blemished. Besides this _does_ have something to do with Harvey."

Harley linked her hands together, "Okay, I'm interested. What do you want to tell me?"

"Turn it off." He pointed to her. "Don't think that I don't know that you've got your little tape recorder turned on in your pocket." Harleen's eyes widened not in surprise, but intrigue. "Alright." She reached into her pocket and pulled the device out. She shut it off in front of him and placed it on the table. Her memory would serve, she decided.

"How would you react if I told you that Batman didn't kill those cops?" She blinked, then her mouth fell open, "You mean, Harvey?"

"Bingo, babe. You see I took him, Gotham's White Knight, and brought him down to my level. It wasn't hard, you see, because like I've said before, madness is like gravity. All it takes is a little push. He was simply devastated that his little bunny got blown away, but it was nothing personal. Honestly, I was hoping that by some miracle both he and Rachel would be saved like in those action movies, but I've learned that life actually doesn't work that way."

"He lost it and murdered those people? I heard Maroni also suffered in the incident. What happened there? He never said anything about the late District Attorney." She gasped.

The Joker grinned, "Why would he admit something like that? He has to keep an image. It was just in his better interest that he went along with the rumors of an unfriendly Batman. So, Harvey lost his bunny, then his mind, and then he was out for vengeance. I'm not sure what happened that killed him, maybe Batman did that, but I can't think that's the story. If he killed Dent, why didn't he kill me when he had the chance, ya know? I want to know what Commissioner Gordon and his Bat are hiding. I would think it's very interesting to know."

Harleen shook her head, "Why do I trust you? You could be lying."

He raised an eyebrow, "Which means you do trust me. You don't have to, sugar, although that's a sharp blow that you should doubt after all that we've been through," He batted his eyelashes at her, "But Batman, who has never killed a criminal intentionally...why would he suddenly change his mind and not kill me, but kill cops and Harvey Dent unless he was on my side? And you and I know how much bull that is. So how does it feel to know that the Great Harvey went mad?"

She raised her eyes to his and within them was a cold accusation. "You think that telling me this is going to get me on your side?" She laughed, "If that was your motive, then you are sorely mistaken. I didn't even vote for him. I voted on the woman that ran against him." She smirked, "But I admit he was a good DA, but I can't blame him. Something was bothering him before, because you are right." She stared down into the surface of the table, "Madness is like gravity. In a way, I personally believe every person to be near to a breakdown. All society needs is the right blow." She muttered, and then cleared her throat, realizing how inappropriate that was. It wasn't needed. She attempted to save face. "Working with all levels of insanity you learn things. I'm a realist, not that I don't have Utopian wishes. I wish things weren't this way."

'Shut up, Harley, stop giving him this ammunition! Why are you still talking?' She screamed at herself. She glanced back at him. He was just watching her. She waited for his lips to twist into a cruel smile. She felt her face heat in embarrassment and nerves.

"Ashamed that you think way?" He asked, but there was no satisfaction on his lips, but within his eyes, those suddenly enthralling orbs it was there. She shared a philosophy with him, she admitted to herself, but she hated it. The feelings of attraction she had been ignoring were becoming harder to deny. Deny? The conservative voice, the one she had always thought was the real her was fading fast, disappearing.

She couldn't refuse it any longer. She, Harleen Quinzel, a psychiatrist was falling in love with her patient, a man unfit to walk the streets of Gotham. It wasn't like she wanted to set him free, but the thought sickened her. This wasn't how it was suppose to happen. Who thought sexual innuendos were sexy and endearing? Apparently she did.

"Doc?" He waved a hand before her face. Her gaze had fallen to the side, but she quickly returned it to him. "You are ashamed, you shouldn't be, you get it, the joke."

"Life is not a joke!" She suddenly shot. "I don't care who you are now! At one point in your life you were a little boy with ideal eyes! I may not know what changed your mind and morphed you, but you just weren't born this way—I will not believe that. Those scars are nothing but scars, but the event that marred you physically also scarred you emotionally. Yeah, I know I'm spouting the same shit that all your doctors have, but," she felt it, tears stinging her eyes. She fought them back even as they burned her throat, caused her pain. "People weren't created to do this! Normal people don't get pleasure from hurting others, but now everyone does. This world is so..." She fell silent. She had let her emotions get the best of her _**again**_. 'This world is so distorted.' She finished what her voice could not.

"Harley," her heart stopped at the gentle tenor of his voice and she hesitantly met his eyes with her own, shining with tears. She wanted comfort, hell she wanted him to tell her that she was going to be okay, that the room wasn't actually spinning. She wanted something forbidden to her. She opened her mouth to attempt to say something, something she wasn't going to be sure of until it fell from her lips, but knocking caused her to jump in her seat.

She shot up as if she had been found sleeping and someone had dropped a stack of textbooks on her desk. She craned her head and stared at the figure outside of the door. It was a guard.

'I didn't call anyone. No one heard my ravings did they? No, these rooms are basically soundproof.' Despite her confusion she was on her feet and walking to the door, composing herself. She didn't want any unnecessary questions. She was quite thankful; she had needed the jolt back to reality.

"Can I help you?" She spoke evenly with a smile to the guard who had knocked on the door.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your session, Dr. Quinzel, but I received this to give to you. It's been checked, nothing dangerous, but I will stay until you've opened it just to be sure."

Harleen took the item– a large, yellow envelope– and carefully turned it over. There was no address or anything. "Who brought this?" The guard shook his head and Harley hesitantly opened it, expecting some note from the Riddler.

When the seal was broken she nimbly reached into the letter and pulled out a yellowing newspaper clipping. She blinked. "It's just an old paper article." She sighed and smiled. "There ya have it, you can go, thanks."

The guard bowed and Harleen returned to the table, taking a quick glance to see that her tape recorder hadn't been moved before taking her seat again. "Newspaper clippings..." She placed the envelope on the tabletop and brought the newspaper to her eye level. "Let's see...Local Businessman Murders Wife...In the early morning hours of January 28th....Police came upon a grisly scene at...Henry Napier, 45, a local businessman had murdered his wife of twenty years, Lauren, 44....Their son, Jack only eighteen has been declared missing, but with the sight of such blood shred who blames the boy, only now entering into manhood?"

Her voice had begun shaking and her hands had started moments before. She laid the article on the tabletop and stared at it. "This is the murder from twelve years ago..." She clenched her fists, "Batman...why bring this up? I never wanted to remember this again in the first place."

"You knew the family?" The Joker asked, and the mere curiosity unclouded by any other motive should have tipped her off, but it didn't. She shook her head, "No, the boy, Jack, he went to my school, but he wasn't there on picture day. I heard it described that he was a quiet, intelligent kid. No one really remembers him. What a way to disappear, not remembered, but I guess he wanted it that way. This," she jabbed her finger into the article and brought her gaze to the Joker's, "this kinda of thing makes me sick inside. Stuff like this makes me think maybe life is nothing but a cruel, corroded joke."

She pulled another item out. It was photo of Henry Napier. She sneered. "Wifebeater, you never regretted killing her and driving away your son. Or did you kill him too? Never seen again, hell, I wouldn't come back. What kind of man can do such a thing? These kinda of men are the kind that turn people into psychopaths, these men turn kids into people like you. Poor Jack Napier, but he can rest now, the bastard isn't coming back. He got what he deserved." She placed the photo down and pulled out another one, this one of Lauren. "Karma is a-" She pulled her hand away from the photo as if it had burned her and it fell to the tabletop.

Her eyes were wide. Beautiful, long dirty blonde hair, just slightly curly framed the woman's face and expressive brown eyes stared from the photo. Harley brought a hand up to her mouth as the Joker took the photo and stared at himself. He had been silent, had said nothing. Now it all made sense. The woman in the photo held a close resemblance to the man before her.

"You're him aren't you?" She said, once again observing the Joker. "You're Jack Napier." Her voice was breathless and her heart was thudding. Was this the young kid who had definitely witnessed his mother's murder? Had his own father given him a permanent smile? Yes, something told her; all of it was the truth. One would think knowing would be exhilarating, but it hurt Harley. She understood. The system had failed him. She understood him.

The Joker laid down the picture and spilled the rest of the contents of the envelope on the table. It was all about the murder, the trial, and then the parole of Henry Napier. Then it was his own murder, the arson of his house.

"Dr. Quinzel," he said and she mutely stared up at him. He stood up and leaned over the table. "My father was...a drinker. And a fiend. One night he went off crazier than usual. I never knew why, not at all. Nothing of particular interest had happened. I hadn't done anything, Mom either. We were just about to sit down to dinner when he came in. My mom was slicing onions." His voice no longer held a mocking tone, the kind he used when describing his scar story usually. No, his voice was low, distant. His brown eyes weren't looking into hers either at that moment. He was remembering the past.

"The moment I heard the door open and heard one, two, three stumbling steps I knew he was drunk. My body tensed as I realized I would have to deal with this, like I had countless times before. Something felt off, though." He pushed himself off the table and began pacing the room. "He sat down and my mom brought him the paper so he could read it while she finished dinner up, but no...his paper was wet—it had rained earlier that day. I remember him yelling at her that it was her fault and then he jumped to her fooling around and all these other completely random accusations, then he started hitting her harder than I've ever seen him do.

"I'd never seen him that upset. I thought something must have happened at work, but I couldn't take it. She was my mother. Don't people promise to love and honor their partners? There's nothing in there about bashing their heads in. I yelled at him, called him every name I could think of. That didn't make his mood any better, but at least, I thought it would be me getting the beating, not her. And he pounced on me. I felt like a rag doll, and blood was everywhere. I fought back as hard as I could, but it wasn't enough.

"I remember his voice, 'Ya little shithead, who taught you manners? Your whore mother?! You don't talk back to me, d'ya hear me boy?! DO YA?! This'll teach ya!' Bam! Bam!" The Joker punched the air, "He hit me everywhere he could. Then mom was yelling, begging that he leave me alone. I wish she'd just kept her mouth shut. He turned back on her, and there was more screaming and when I was able to pull myself up into a sitting position against the wall that's when I saw her pull the knife she had been using to slice onions.

"He saw the knife of course, and it just made him even madder; he was pissed! How dare she pull a knife on him. They fought and he tackled her to the ground and wrestled the knife from her. There was more blood and both of them were bleeding. And then he stabbed her without any hesitation. He stabbed her over and over again...screaming at first and then laughing. Pure laughter. He was having fun...."

Harleen felt tears now freely flowing from her eyes. No wonder he was the Joker. Her heart ached. He turned and stared at her, and his face was not the Joker's. This was Jack and everything he was thinking was revealed to her. He walked towards her and turned her chair around so easily as if she was weightless and then knelt down in front of her.

"I was crying too. I knew she was gone. Then my sadness became fury. I screamed and attempted to get up and I got one good punch in on the bastard before he pushed me away and into a wall. When my vision came back he was towering over me. He held the knife, still red with my mother's blood in his hand. 'Why the long face, Jack? Don't you think the house is quieter now?' He held the blade up. 'Why so serious, c'mon crack your old man a smile.' I spat at him and he slapped me. He held me down and forced the blade in my mouth, cutting my lips in the process. 'Don't be so serious. Here, I'll help you. Let's put a smile on that face!' And...all I remember is the pain and when I woke up my face was stitched up and he was passed out on the floor. My mother still lied there.

"I called the police, and with adrenaline and just the need to escape, I ran away, used what money I could to buy a ticket from Gotham and left, vowing to come back and avenge my mother. And I did."

"You killed him," Harley whispered to him, "then you burned down the house, messing with the wiring and disappeared. Jack Napier died the night Lauren Napier died, didn't he?"

"No, Jack Napier just got rid of everything that made him Jack Napier and-"

"He slowly became the Joker," Harleen muttered and she sputtered before falling to full-out tears. A hand touched her cheek and wiped them away after a moment and she opened her eyes.

The Joker stared up at her. He stood up wordlessly and then leaned over bracing himself against the edges of the table. He was now staring down at her. "Harley, I wish I had met you in high school, who knows where life coulda gone?" He leaned down, and kissed her lips softly. "You'd better get going, your hour's up." He breathed against her mouth as he pulled away.

She picked up the clippings and stuffed them in the envelope wordlessly. She was out the door within minutes and the Joker watched her leave, for once a sober expression on his face.

What was she doing to him? She would be so easy to manipulate, but he didn't want that. He had made her cry; her tears concerned him. Her attitude touched him.

He had never wanted pity, but hers, it awoke something in him that he had thought never existed, or at least that he thought he would never feel.

Was it love? It wasn't lust, although he did want her physically, but he knew he wouldn't force her. He didn't do rape, and he would never pressure her; at least, maliciously. She would deny this come the next day, call it sympathy for him, and the thought brought an actual smile to his face.

He could handle that; he would handle that.

His precious, vivacious Harley Quinn. Who was who's puppet again?


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

"_**I would forever reminisce upon this. It was the beginning to my end; my drowning by fire, but it was also a new beginning; everything burns, but only a lucky few can rise from the ashes, reborn."**_

* * *

_To whoever happens to read this, I hope you don't look down on me. I'll be the first to agree with you that I may require a psychological evaluation, but let me first lay out my case and confession._

There are people who enter your life and despite all rational warning you find yourself drawn to them like a moth to the light of a flame. Helplessly you are attracted. I am a victim to this disease. I shouldn't like him, be attracted, or await with the most devouring excitement our next meeting.

_This sounds like a trashy romance novel doesn't it? I sound like I cannot help, but suffer beneath the curse of my sex, unable to be the master of my own desires. Now whether or not that last sentence is true and I am weak, my situation is far from what you, a normal person, would declare romantic or endearing in anyway. You'll most likely be scared for me, or be angry with, or—most despised of all—pity me._

_My name is Harleen Marie Quinzel, I'm a psychiatrist at Arkham Ayslum in Gotham City, New York, and I have a huge problem. I am currently 28 years old and deeply and hopelessly in love with my psychiatric patient. That in of itself is terrible, huh? But trust me it's even more complicated than that. Aren't I a picture?_

_My patient in question goes by the alias "The Joker". So, there you have it. If you live around Gotham –or even the same continent as I– you know who I'm talking about, if not you'll soon find out and you'll get why I believe you'll think me nuts—if you don't already think that. And yes, I repeat, I love him. There is no way to explain myself, I can't even explain it to me. I'm not one for excuses at the moment, so there's no rationalizing this confession as the ravings of a lonely woman, for I never thought of myself that way, and I doubt this attraction is borne of the craving for attention (I have plenty of that thank you). I'm just a guilty woman whose crime is attraction, mostly likely a fatal one if a sane train of thought is to be followed, but as I re-read that I don't agree that that is even rational in this case._

_This is no excuse, so don't misjudge me, it is a mere statement for my own insight, but I have no idea why I love the Joker. If I did, I'd honestly admit it, stand on the Wayne Building and scream my confession to the heavens, but I have nothing, zilch, nada, zip. Nothing rational explains to me why I feel like this. I muse sardonically saying love is not rational—thanks, I'm glad to know that now!_

_The Joker...he has no motives and to the best that I can possibily predict(note this word for later reference) I am his toy. He flusters me, angers me, harasses me, and flirts and attempts to make a move on me. He gets a genuine kick out of my reactions and enjoys every minute of it. And I think he's aware that I secretly have come to enjoy it as well, every taunt and heated, lustful phrase. You would call me naïve and tell me that am I nothing but entertainment for this man and as soon as I bore him he will dispose of me in some way or another, but I disagree. The hesitant side of my mind may agree with you, but I've seen a Joker no one else has known._

_The Joker who would mercilessly blow up a hospital stares back at me during our sessions, but not with a gaze picking me apart maliciously. He is civil if not lecherous and flirtatious. He has never harmed me, and there is much more. I know the truth behind the scars, but death could not cause me to repeat what I have been told unless he himself gives permission._

_I am his of my own will, not because I was threatened, and if you ever meet a person who knew me deeply, of which I have at least one, they can tell you that this letter is truth, written by a sane mind, at least in my opinion. I love the Joker, no question. I am writing this letter in order to convince myself, and no longer deny it, but I cannot reveal it._

_I continue to tell myself that I am a sane person, and though I am quite sure of my attraction, I do take into account factors. The Joker is dark and mysterious, a mass murderer, maybe I'm just caught up in dazzle, and there are perhaps many other reasons. Some women are obsessed with the notion that they can change a man; demon to angel is a popular underlying fantasy, but I have no delusions that I can change this man. Indeed it seems he has changed me, further evidence that this love, if it truly be that, is irrational and unexplainable to me. But I want to remember this, whether to laugh upon it as fancy or solemnly regard it as an ultimate truth._

_I will continue to treat him, however, until I am sure that my attraction without question clouds my judgment. After that moment I will take it day-by-day. I am not a planner; inspiration hits me as it comes._

_I hope you understand, reader. I am in love, can do nothing about it, and am content that way. Come what may, I declare._

_-Harleen Quinzel._"Innocent," the Joker laughed, "you think dear, little Brian was innocent?"

* * *

Harleen crossed her legs beneath the table and nodded, "Yes, despite him being a means of bringing out Batman what else was there?"

"That was it. Harley, you see it's like war. Some innocents have to die, it's the price that's paid. Brian was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I may have spared his life had he not fought back so much. Then I had an epiphany: I could get Bat's attention with him. Now, I didn't want to kill him, but it was necessary. You know very well that dead men tell no tales and make for a better message besides. That's all."

"That's all?!" Harleen did not want to understand this logic, no matter how much sense it made. No, and it incensed her a little. "Well," she said simply, "that certainly fits your profile. So you questioned him, recording the whole thing, and then off camera you murdered him?"

"Murder is such a cruel word, Dr. Quinn, makes it sound illegal," he giggled. Harleen rolled her eyes. "Murder is illegal."

"That man, I respected that he had an ideal; that he stood up for what he believed in, but he wasn't Batman. He should have quit while he was ahead. Had he not interrupted me whilst I was meeting with my boys, the confrontation would never have started. And if he had run when he—you know, I have _**don't**_ have an explanation. He really just showed up. If he had taken advice and not dressed up like the Bat, then the situation could have been avoided and I wouldn't have killed him to send a message. I mean, I don't have to kill someone for a message, but with him, it was necessary. It got Batman's attention, even if he didn't reveal himself."

"So it was all for a message?"

"It was a strong one." He nodded.

Harleen shook her head, "That's childish."

The Joker grinned. "And you aren't?"

Harleen stiffened. The Joker smirked and lowered his head. "You know the man I am, and yet you question what I do?"

"I do so because I'm your doctor and it is my duty to understand you, or at least attempt to." She answered simpering, glaring at him. "Well, do ya, Doc? Do you understand?"

'Yes,' her mind whispered, but she shook her head, "No, I don't."

"You lie and I don't like lying."

'Well what do you want me to do?!' She screamed internally in fury, but she merely sniffed. "How unfortunate, too bad. Now there was another televised incident. Mike Engel, you took him hostage shortly after the incident at Gotham General."

"Fine, I'll appease you," Joker smiled overly sweet and twiddled his thumbs atop the table. "Mike Engel was merely a hostage. He was the perfect subject to announce my plan to play all of Gotham in a game. As you know, I didn't kill him, so see, that proves the point that death isn't always the best way to rely a message." Harleen pointed at him, "But fear is."

"Hypocrite," the Joker sang and waggled a finger at her, "you _**do**_ understand. See, lying."

She pointedly ignored him. "So both were to instill fear, further break the citizens of Gotham in order to set up the next ramming of their psyches. You are sick."

"No, just ahead of the curve. Don't talk as if you're one of the citizens that label me _**crazy**_," he spat the last word. "You may want to be, but you're not. You get it, but like I keep telling you, you feel ashamed because your starting to see the cracks of society. I'm not trying to push you, you know. If you continue to deny your own beliefs the fall will only be harder. Just because you admit you understand my thinking, doesn't mean your going to dress up in a purple suit, wield a knife, and start blowing up buildings. No one can change Harleen Quinzel unless she accepts it just like no one can change me."

"And I'm the one in denial?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"You're the one who keeps asking me questions, skirting around the subject. What do you really want to ask, because this act," he waved his hand at her, "is a bad joke. Something is crawling beneath the surface. What is it?"

"I'm not the one here to be analyzed," she leaned back calmly and ran a hand through her hair.

"You're changing, Harley. I remember months ago," yes she had been working with him for months now. It was now October 31st, and she had managed to keep him compliant with questions such as these. She had asked many things, ones that were not conversational but not prying either. "You would be fiery, yes, but you snap back at me almost calmly now. I should be hurt, you should be afraid."

"And perhaps I would be if you tried to harm me instead of attempting to seduce me." She smirked. The Joker broke into laughter. "Bold, so bold. Ah, but you're right, but there's not much else to do. You'd not make a message for me, sure Bats would come, but I just don't think I could enjoy torturing you in any other way than for you to be begging me to take you." He licked his lips, clearly enjoying _**that**_ though.

She spoke into her tape recorder, a habit she had picked up because it was interesting to see his reactions to her verbal notes—she'd not tell him that, though. "Patient still fantasizes about having sex with me." The Joker raised a brow at that and grinned licentiously, "Sex? No, no, Harley, none of that. I don't just want to deflower you, I want to make love to you. I want you to enjoy it."

A lump had formed in her throat. Oh boy.

"Does the fact that I want the woman to derive just as much pleasure as me still surprise you? Or maybe," he leaned over the table and stared at her conspiratorially, "does it get you fighting a flush in your cheeks imagining me holding you while I take you higher and higher into ecstasy?"

She flushed at that, but glared into his eyes, bringing her face closer to his. Their noses were almost touching. "No, it makes me wonder how you tell me these lies or half-truths. You're the Joker, there is no way that you," she paused and then her mind shut down its censoring. "There's no way you can be _**that**_ attracted to me!"

"Oh," he whispered, "why not?"

"I'm a doctor, and besides that, it makes no sense!" She sputtered. He brought a hand to her cheek, "Pish posh, ethics...Morals, you're not going to have any fun that way, but if you were to pursue such a relationship, you could just quit being my psychiatrist. Besides do you see me caring?" He caressed her soft skin, and though she tensed, she didn't move. "Quit?"

He smiled and nodded, "I'm not going to push you remember? You can keep your ethics and rules. Tell me, baby, why do I not care? Any other person I would enjoy twisting, but not you, never you. Is it because you are doing what I cannot, being an counterforce legally? Is it because you're pretty? Why do I not want to change you?"

She gulped, his face was coming closer to hers. "Love is-isn't rational...it's," she shut her eyes and her fingers dug into her palms. She wanted this, but was now the time? She opened her eyes and-

"Dr. Quinzel." The intercom turned on and the moment was ruined.

The Joker glowered and leered at the infernal device attached to the wall as he pulled away angrily. Harleen appeared calm, absolutely relieved actually, but her lips had the slightest quirk in them as if she was smiling in amusement at him. She pushed back from the table and stood up.

"It's amusing in your case, _**Joker**_." She grabbed her tape recorder as she made her way to the intercom, thankful for her inhibition that they had been interrupted, though she wouldn't deny a slight disappointment. "Subject also seems to believe he is genuinely infatuated." She pressed the button on the intercom. "This is Dr. Quinzel."

"Finally, what took you so long?" A quipping voice replied.

Harleen grinned, "Pam, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I was in the neighborhood and I happen to have your Halloween make-up and other such goodies, so I thought I could take a quick detour and bring them to ya."

"Yeah, sure, I'll meet you outside my session room."

"Good, see ya soon, Harls!"

Harleen glanced over at the Joker, "Be right back."

Her wait wasn't long, minutes later Pam was standing in front of her with a brown paper bag and a pair of black boots in her hands. She removed herself from leaning on the wall.

"I got the goods," Pam waved the bag and shoes with a furtive smile. "Black and white grease paint, black lipstick, I also got you some black and red fingernail polish, and of course red shoe laces. And your boots that you left at my house."

"How much do I owe you?"

"No, you're not going to pay me back. Keep your money, it's fine," she waved her hand. "You got everything else, right?"

Harley nodded, "Yeah. Thanks for the supplies, I just put it off till the last minute. I didn't cause you to have to take a day off did I?"

"No, I don't have a class until three, and I doubt that many will come. College students plus Halloween equals one crazy night. Drinking, arson, what have you. Well, I just wanted to come by and give you those. I'll see tonight, want me to get a driver, in case?"

Harleen shook her head and hugged the woman, "No, we can call a cab if worse comes to worst. Thanks."

Pam smiled and when she was released from the embrace she handed Harley her burden. "I wish I could live as sporadically as you. Harley, we need to be careful, Halloween is the perfect time for the Riddler to try something big after his long silence. It would be dramatic."

Harleen nodded, "He said he was planning something big in his last message. But that was it. He had a riddle, but it's been figured out. He's kidnapped Elisa Ranger and broken her. He's got an accomplice now. I'll be careful, no worries."

Pam sighed, "But I am worried, this Riddler has been causing you to act a little different lately, and I'm just worried about the end result." Harleen laughed, "It's an act, Pam, I'm fine, but he'll fall. He's bound to. He's messing up, and now that we know he's kidnapped a woman, he may be easier to find if she's seen."

"You're right, I suppose. See you tonight, Harls." And with a smile Pam left.

Harleen stared after her a moment. "There's no need to worry, I like this change." She muttered and then entered the session room again. She placed her boots by her chair and sat the bag on the tabletop.

"Halloween make-up?" The Joker questioned, curiously, his attention obviously piqued. Harleen nodded and began pulling out the items one at a time.

"White facepaint, red shoe laces, red fingernail polish, black facepaint, a domino mask—cute—black nail polish, and black lipstick. Everything's here." She nodded and picked up the lipstick. She unscrewed it and brought it up to her lips, dabbing it on. "Is it dark?" she asked the Joker, nonchalantly.

"Why are you doing that in the middle of our session?"

"Do you have any ideas that would be productive to _**me**_ and _**my**_ job?"

He grinned, "Well-" She cleared her throat and glowered at him in slight annoyance. "It's dark." He reached over and grabbed the vial of white greasepaint. "This is the kind that I buy. Brings back memories it does." He waved it in the air. Harleen stood up and leaned over the table to retrieve it. "I can't let you put that on, there might not be enough for me if I do, and besides it's against protocol to let you to wear it."

"You want it? Then I want something in return."

Her hand was clutched over the container, but it was clear he wasn't going to give it up easily after she pulled on it once. She sighed and leaned till her lips were close to his ear. "Okay, then," she turned her head and kissed him soundly on the cheek, making her own sound effects as she did so, leaving a nice lipstick mark as she pulled away slightly.

He released the paint and she pulled it from his hands and sat it back in the bag, smiling, trying to hold back laughter as she saw the mark on his cheek.

She had kissed him. Yes, it was overly exaggerated, but it meant she was definitely fine with physical contact with him. He smiled charmingly. "Geez, Harley, who knew you cared? But, uh, puddin', you missed." He reached forward and pulled her head down towards his, his fingers tangling in her loose hair as he kissed her fully on the lips. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and gave it a playful nip, not enough to break the skin, but her moan didn't escape his attention as he pulled back.

"There, now," he sighed, "that's better."

He loved her shock, and the clear emotions in her eyes. She was fighting kissing him again. She wouldn't, not yet, but he tensed in anticipation, nonetheless, in case she broke _**this**_ mold. She would eventually, but he laughed as his cheek suddenly stung.

"I think it's about time Dr. Arkham knew about this. Maybe he'll switch me to someone more cooperative," she whispered vehemently, but he shook his head. She wouldn't leave, it was an empty threat. "C'mon, Doc, it was just one little kiss. I didn't french ya. I'm being gentle, besides you liked it too. That groan back there wasn't one of fear or dissatisfaction. What's a little nip? If you really want retribution, I won't be against you repaying the bite."

She muttered lowly, and sat back down gathering the contents of the bag and replacing them. Had he known that it took all her will to make that growl? Maybe she should quit being his psychiatrist. Maybe she could request visitor visiting hours with him. If anyone could pull strings to get that it was her. She didn't want to hide it anymore, but she had to act, even as she knew he didn't buy it. Couldn't he see that as long as she was his doctor she couldn't let herself reciprocate his feelings? There were cameras and passers-by to consider as well.

If she quit the case and told the truth there would a psychiatric evaluation, but she could handle that.

She stood up, "I'm ending our session a little early today. I need to go and get ready for tonight's Halloween celebration with Pam." No, she just wanted out to think.

* * *

Her blonde hair was sodden and pulled back tightly behind her as she dug through one of her drawers, clad in only a navy blue towel. Around her, on her vanity her make-up was set up and an outfit was laid out on the bed, an ensemble of red and black.

The stereo she had in the floor beside her window was blaring with music.

"With a thousand lies  
And a good disguise  
Hit 'em right between the eyes  
Hit 'em right between the eyes  
When you walk away  
Nothing more to say  
See the lightning in your eyes  
See 'em running for their lives..."

She refused to think anymore upon the happenings at the Asylum. Now was not the time to ruminate on that. She was going to go out with Pam, dress up, to party until she passed out. Period; that was it. Tomorrow was another day, and Saturday besides. She could think then. Now it was time for fun.

She hummed along with the song as she pulled out a pair of undergarments and let her towel fall.

She looked interesting to say the least as she pulled on black, red-lined blazer that had been constructed to end at the beginning of her torso. Her eyes stared into the full length mirror on the back of her door as she lightly tapped one of her chaotic pigtails, teased and sprayed.

A ditzy cheerleader that was hit with a punk rock cannon, that's what she looked like, decked in a pair of jeans that traded being crimson at her thigh on one leg to ebony on the other and the same below the knees. She wouldn't look "normal" for long, but before she took anymore liberties making herself up, she grabbed her black boots and sat down at her vanity pulling them on and tying the red laces in; done with that she turned and smiled at herself in her vanity mirror and her hands enclosed on the white greasepaint.

She was finishing applying her lipstick when her phone vibrated beside her on the vanity. Her blood froze when her phone showed an unknown number. She knew who it was before she brought it, open to her ear.

"Hello," her voice was strong.

"Having a _**fun**_ Halloween, Harley?" The garbled voice she had to come recognize as the Riddler asked smugly.

"Well, I was until you called," she replied with no hidden sarcasm.

"Then I'll make this short and simple. I hope this brightens up your night. I have a little riddle for you."

"What have you done?"

"Ah-ah, first the riddle." She quietened. "Coiled like the snake that tempted, Eve is bound in a garden darker than Eden along with the devil himself with a painted smile. There are guards, my demons watching them, and if you don't find them within an hour they die. Dark Eden lies within this city, a lonely place where lines are obscure and those that slave may become the subjects of their own work. My little Engima is there; she's been dying to meet you, Harley, but if you want to see your friend alive—she was dressed like a scarecrow, right—you better hurry. The clock will begin to wind down after I hang up. Run little Harley Quinn...can the black queen outsmart my queen of ivory?"

The line went silent. Harleen screamed and jumped from her seat and began pacing her room. It took her little time to figure out the puzzle; and she knew it was because he had wanted her to decipher it. She grabbed her phone and dialed a number.

"Commissoner Gordon, I don't care how you do it, get Batman. Tell him to meet me at Arkham Asylum, the Riddler's holding Dr. Pamela Isley hostage."

She didn't even give him time to think, didn't tell him of the other hostage. She doubted he would have cared had she mentioned the Joker was apparently a victim too. She grabbed a pair of dark fingerless gloves from her bed, the last piece of her Halloween costume before rushing out of her bedroom.

Oops, she'd totally forgotten to have Jim warn the dark knight of her attire.

* * *

Elisa could understand the girl, Pam. She saw the worth of kidnapping and holding her, but the other prisoner she wasn't sold on.

She turned to regard, first the stoic and silent girl sitting against the back wall of the room. Her hands were bound and only one of her emerald eyes was visible from the concealment of the ripped, burlap mask that she wore. She had made sure the ties were snug.

So this was Pamela Isley, Dr. Quinzel's best friend; she certainly looked intimidating and other than her initial capture she had been silent said the men that had bagged her. She was taking it rather well, but her eye was stormy and it glared coldly into Elisa's own. The captor broke the stare first and turned instead to the other hostage.

He was smiling genuinely. This was the Joker and his scars made him appear even more dementedly giddy. She'd made sure he had been restrained in a straightjacket.

"You must think you're one smart cookie, huh, toots?"

She pretended not to hear his comment as her eyes strayed above him to the clock. She had forty-five minutes; the Riddler had called her, confirming the countdown in a one word command.

She sat crossed-legged on a table in the center of the room, so she could observe her company. She blew a strand that had fallen from her bound curls from her face. One would have thought after one attempt, Arkham would have beefed up security more than they had. It had been too easy to take over the place—hell it was the same plan as last time only with more people, and an actual representative of the Riddler overseeing the operation.

No one wanted to cross the boss's girl. She had an attitude to match his, they had come to learn. One of their men lie in a pool of his own bowels outside for coping a feel. She may seemed like a docile kitten for the man in charge, but Enigma was no trick.

"Enigma," a boy of his late teens appeared in the dim doorway.

She raised her head and nodded in recognition.

"Ron says the docs and nurses are all nice and snug now."

"Good. Make sure three are assigned to each room. They're in the three center rooms right?"

The boy nodded, "As ordered, ma'am."

She nodded.

"Hey, _**E-nig-ma**_," the Joker popped. "You think you're too good to talk to us hostages?"

"What?" She bit and craned her head to stare at the man. The boy in the door was apparently distressed and she saw the Joker's eyes glance towards him. He licked his lips, smiling still. "Oh, a little snappy are ya? I happen to like girls with moxie, but you, something's strange with you. Wha'cha doing?"

"Waiting for the guest of honor," she shrugged.

"You think she'll come?" The boy asked. Enigma nodded, "Harleen will show. We've got Pam."

"I knew it! You better not touch her you bitch!"

Enigma grinned and the Joker turned to stare at his companion—other prisoner—Pamela with muted interest.

"And she speaks," Enigma clapped once. The Joker turned back to her. "I agree with this woman. You'd be better off not touching her."

Enigma blinked and then laughed, "I would, would I? Now I see why the Riddler wanted you too. What if I do decide to touch her, hm? I think my boys would enjoy the fun. Is she pretty?"

"She's a helluva lot more to look at than you!" Pam snapped.

"I like you already," the Joker smiled.

Pam blinked at him. What could one honestly say to that and why did the Joker want to protect Harley as much as her? Wait, strike that answer, she knew. She shook her head.

"For the time being, I'll ignore that comment. Trevor," Enigma turned to the boy, "I want to get three other guys. You all will be joining me here to greet our guest when she comes."

"What are you planning to do once my little queen of spades appears?"

Enigma cocked an eyebrow at the man, as the boy left the door. Honestly she was just doing this to gain more trust from the Riddler; she saw Harley as a lovely counterforce and she wanted on that side. She smirked, though. "Well, unlike the Riddler, I dunno. I was told not to harm her too much. You see, I think the Riddler wants to talk to her alone. I'm just here to send a message and shake things up a little bit. Gotham's new criminal mastermind has decided to step forward."

"Who is the Riddler, if he coming forward it won't matter if you tell us."

"Oh, nice try, you little viper," Elisa lowered her head and stared at Pam, "but no."

"Got 'em," Trevor said and he and three other men entered the room.

"Alright, thirty-five more minutes...No more talking from either of you."

"Oh, scary, what ya gonna do?" The Joker quipped.

"I won't mind killing you, Joker, I'd be a hero if I did. I'm still not sure why I'm holding you hostage."

"How'd you get him, Enigma?" One of the other men asked her. She grinned and pushed herself off the table, revealing her to be wearing a doctor's coat and even an I.D. Badge. "Connections; I acted like a doctor, gave them very convincing paperwork, and thus he was brought restrained to me. The rest you all were doing yourselves."

"Boss didn't take any chances planning this did he?"

"**Good evening all of Arkham!"**

A feminine voice called over the intercom interrupting the moment. Pam's and the Joker's eyes flashed in recognition of the voice, but their watchers paused.

"I thought you said all the rooms were secured..." Enigma growled and turned a deadly glare to the four men.

"But we-"

"**If you would please tune into your furnished televisions, there is a special message for Enigma and all the other croonies of the Riddler about to air."**

Enigma turned to her two hostages. "It's her isn't it?" She grinned and turned her eyes with the rest of the room to the television, which turned on and blinked for a moment. "Impressive."

Then the inside of the security booth was shown. It seemed empty, but the chair that was facing away from the camera began rocking.

"**Hey diddle, diddle how about a riddle? What's five-three, physically un-intimidating, and managed to wriggle through your defenses without breaking a sweat?"**

The chair twisted around and within an instant there staring into the camera was an ivory face, inset with piercing icy eyes staring from what appeared two black diamonds ringing her eyes and attached over the bridge of her nose.

She waved from her position leaning over the control console, her eyes obviously giddy.** "Now, someone should tell me if I'm wrong, but if I'm not mistaken, Enigma you have someone I want. And just because he happens to be there, I'll take the Joker as well. So, um, I made your little...timeline," **she cleared her throat,** "where's the antagonism?"**

"Who is that?" Trevor whispered fearfully. Enigma was also wide-eyed. "That's Harleen Quinzel."

"**You're not throwing a good party."** She waggled a finger. **"What a poor host you are. Well, I'm coming to find you. If you think you can stop me, c'mon, I'm rearing for some action. So I'll be seeing ya, but I just wanted to let you know that Harley Quinn is in the building. Ta ta now!"**

The television fell into static as she turned off the camera she had been using with a smirk.

"That little bold bitch! Thing one and two!" Enigma bristled to two of the men. "Go and track her down!"

The television had gone black again.

"Why aren't you moving?! GO!" They rushed from the room. She pulled her gun from her belt. "Ivester, right?" She asked the remaining, unnamed man. He nodded.

"You got a knife?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Enigma smiled madly, "she's just too confident for her own good. You're gonna carve that smug little grin into her face. She wants to parade like the Joker—that's the first thing that came to mind at her appearance right—we'll help her case. I don't know how she managed to get in here."

"Don't worry, Jeeves and Hyatt will get her. The security room is just around the corner."

"Then why, dear little Trevor, did no one catch her already?"

Trevor shook his head, as the gun she held crawled up his chest. "I dunno, maybe she's really quiet."

"Oh, that's just a trip there."

"Enigma!" The two she had sent out came running back into the room. "She ain't in the security room anymore!"

"What do you mean? Did you even try to look in the adjoining halls and rooms ?!" Enigma screeched. The Joker chuckled.

"My Harley frustrating you? She does that all the time to me, only it's more pleasurable."

"Shut up! She was just in there! How can someone just disappear like that. I mean she's wearing face paint for God's sake! Geez, you'd think-"

"Enigma?" Trevor whispered.

"Not now, T. You'd think that someone in white greasepaint would be noticeable. How can you-"

"Enigma."

"What?!" She pivoted on her heel.

"I heard something up there." He pointed upwards. Her eyes fell to the air vent above him. Of course.

She raised her gun. "1...2...3..." The others followed suit. "SHOOT!"

The guns went off riddling the metallic piping with holes. Pam screamed.

The smell of gunpowder filled the room as did bullet casings. They'd shot until the guns clicked. They were reloading when a low cackle echoed around the room. It was filled with sick amusement.

"Ka-boom!"

The ceiling exploded in the next instant. Pam ducked her head, another scream ripping from her throat in panic. The five people not tied up fell to the floor as debris fell and smoke filled the room.

"What the hell?!" Enigma coughed and stared up as the haze cleared.

The one responsible for the explosion stood confidently in the dispersing smoke staring up at the hole she had created in the ceiling with pride. She was an embodiment of chaos, an ebony and crimson Eris.

"Did anyone request a Harley Quinn?" She questioned in a pregnant innocence. She tilted her head, her blonde pigtails hardly disturbed by the movement.

"Harleen Quinzel," Enigma whispered.

She bowed, "T'would be me, you have some people you wanted me to come on behalf of?" She turned her head and grinned at both the Joker and Pam. She winked before returning her attention to Elisa.

Enigma stood up and dusted herself off. Harleen took one then another step. She grinned, "You must be his Enigma, my, my aren't you a pretty little doll. Did he have fun breaking you? Did you enjoy every punch?"

Enigma's eyes widened. Harley clapped her hands. "You have a shiner, there, doll. And from your reaction, my assumption was right. So he beats you. Does he rape you too?"

"Shut up!"

"What, not enough fight to satisfy his hunger normally?" She snickered. "Hit a soft spot, huh?" she nimbly circled her, "I bet." She raised a hand towards Elisa's face.

Enigma slapped it away.

"Huh, you seem pret_**ty**_ feisty to me. Maybe," she raised a finger, not at all perturbed by being smacked away, "you like women!" She nodded. "I could swing that too, puddin', hmmm?" She laughed. "What's wrong with your croonies?" She sobered and stared at the four men tensed behind Enigma. "Hey, you guys got any balls or did the Riddler neuter ya?"

"Why don't ya shut your little trap." Hyatt barked.

"Why," Harleen lowered her head, "don't ya _**make**_ me? Or ya gonna cower behind this girl the whole time?"

"Boss," and with Enigma's nod he stepped in front of the woman.

"Oh, the man wants to play. C'mon then, show Harley what ya got." She tensed and watched him. "I ain't gonna hurt ya much, girly, just rough ya up a little."

"Oh, scary, scary." She quipped; he charged. She charged right back surprising him, but he didn't falter. At the last moment she bent over and using her sped as leverage, pushed off the floor with her hands and into the air.

"Oops, should've warned ya I was a gymnast, huh?" She giggled as she landed, hands on his shoulders. She pushed off instantly and kicked him in the back, sending him stumbling as she landed in a crouch on the floor.

She straightened and turned around just in time to dodge another charge. "Ya missed." She tripped him. "Oh, am I being mean? Awww...I'll give you another chance you big oaf. C'mon."

She danced to a wall and stood there. "Now we're fair. C'mon, c'mon," she waved her hand, "I want ya to do it, I want ya do it, come get me!" She sang and Hyatt's anger was even more set off. "I'll break you real good for that, you little whore." He ran at her again.

She didn't move until he was far too close to stop. She glanced upward and with a leap grabbed a pipe hanging from the ceiling, propelling herself upward and out of the way as Hyatt sped full speed into the wall. He fell backward and Harleen hung upside from the pipe, her legs curled around it.

She pouted. "I broke him." Then she grinned, staring at the other guys, "Anyone else, hm? HM?" She dropped gracefully to the floor. She raised her arms and then shrugged. "I'll take that as a no...Alright then, you just stay there then, let me untie Pam here, and no other chaos will occur, 'kay?" She nodded to herself. "Good!"

She skipped over to Pam, her face fell and it was no longer a mask of dementia. She looked apologetic now that her back was turned to the people. She strongly took steps and she was aware of the footsteps behind her. Let a guy follow her, she would-

"Harley!"

She grabbed the chair she was passing and without hesitation turned and swung. She hit the man squarely in the head with a sickening crack. He screamed, dropped the piece of debris he had been planning to hit her with, and fell to the ground, clutching his head.

"Tsk, tsk...see what happens when you're bad? You might need a doctor to look at that... You might have a concussion. Oh, that's right! I'm a doctor." She grinned dementedly. "You wouldn't have known it would ya?" She walked over to him, "Hang on a sec, Red." She towered over his curled body on the ground. "You're not gonna die, but, uh," She kicked him hard and laughed, "that'll be bruised in the morning."

She licked her lips and glared up at the three. "Enigma, you're just standing there while I wipe the floor with your henchmen."

She crossed her arms. "I have no reason to save them. If they can't handle you it's their own fault." She walked towards the other woman. "I can't believe a little thing like you can take them on." She sized her up.

"I can't believe you're just taking the Riddler's punches." She grinned, "Is he any good in bed?"

Enigma brought a hand to her mouth, "Oh, what a question? You want to find out? Is the Joker not good enough for you?"

Harley laughed in amusement, bright joy. "Do you really want to know?" She asked her voice growing dark, "How much detail?" Enigma's face snarled. She pursed her lips and punched Harley in the stomach, instantaneously pushing her backward. Harley just laughed.

"No, Harley! It's a trap!" Pam called. If the Joker really cared why wasn't he saying anything? She glanced at him; he was entranced by the battle unfolding before him. She growled, but Harley didn't seem to mind, not even as she was grabbed from behind by Ivester.

She was pulled back atop the table and turned around until she was facing the man. In his hand glinted a knife. "Let's do a number on that smart mouth of yours."

Harley was now facing her long time fear, but with the weapon finally before her she wasn't afraid. The Joker lived through it. She was still smiling. "Alright, big boy, carve me a nice bloody grin." She opened her mouth with a loud side-effect.

He gaped at her. She grinned even wider. "I'm ready for my surgery. You chickening out?" She tilted her head and then brought her legs up and curled them beneath her and pushed him off her and he dropped the knife in surprise. She scrambled up and off the table grabbing the blade quickly before he could.

"You shouldn't wield these unless you're serious. These things are dangerous," her voice was black with anger now. She brought the blade up and Ivester, who had once been so confident, now flinched away as she traced his neck with the cold steel. He opened his eyes when he felt it pulled away.

She brought up the blade and he closed his eyes at the plunge only to open them in a hoarse horrendous scream as the knife was driven through his hand and into the wall behind him. She grinned and pulled a gun from her pocket. "Told ya they were dangerous. So, girlie..." She turned to Enigma pulling the knife out of the man's hand with her free one. He sank to the ground clutching it and glaring at her but mindful of the firearms she now held.

"The chips aren't fallin' in your favor, he," she jerked her head where Trevor was huddled against the wall whimpering, tears filling his eyes, "ain't gonna do anything," she turned her whole body and shot the boy twice. Once in each leg, both followed by a bloodcurdling howl.

"I'm gonna give you a choice," Harley stated tiredly. Enigma began to back up then, her eyes wide and fearful. This Harley wasn't the one who had challenged the Riddler those months ago. This was a new and possibly deadly opponent. She gulped.

The petite girl managed somehow to loom despite her size as she stepped forward, throwing the bloodied knife to stick cleanly, high in a far wall. Her shoulders were hunched, her eyes dark. She was serious, and gravely demented. Elisa studied her in musted fascination; what had Edward done to this girl, she was close to breaking.

She backed Elisa into the back wall by the Joker and her raised the gun to her heart. "You can either choose to die, or I'll let you live, but ya see...this living bit...it has a stipulation." Harleen nodded, "You're gonna tell the Riddler, you're gonna tell...Edward, that I know his little secret...because it is Edward isn't it, Elisa?"

Elisa couldn't shake off the clear shock that colored her now pale face, she couldn't muffle the gasp. "How?"

"You worked at Nygma Inc. with him...The last place you were seen was at his house...Tell him the last of his pawns are about to fall. Taylor Henderson woke up this morning, and all I need is her testimony to lock him away. I wasn't gonna go until tomorrow, but ah, you made your move. So I'm gonna make mine." She removed the gun from its target and aimed at the ground level window. The glass shattered with the bullet and Harley grabbed Elisa roughly by the hair.

"Tell him, to come and get me. I've not learned my lesson yet, and I'm still not afraid of him in the least." She thrust her out the window and clapped her hands.

Harley's face then fell and she leaned against the wall. She pulled a small device from her pocket and brought it up to her mouth pressing down. "Batman, I've found them, Enigma got away."

"Batman?!" Pam gasped. Harley turned to her. "I may be rash, but I'm far from stupid." She grinned. "He'll take care of you both. I'm sorry, Pam. I hope I didn't freak you out with my little show."

"Harley, what's going on? That was-"

"An act," she promised. The depraved look had vanished. "When this is all over, I'll get some therapy...I know this is affecting me, but have a disfigured girl to question."

She walked from the room just as a dark figure entered. Pam stared at the figure known as Batman glancing in astonishment around the room, but the Joker was strangely silent, his eyes trailing after Harleen's retreating figure.

* * *

Elisa held her cheek as the Edward drove rashly through the streets towards Gotham Central Hospital. From beneath her fingers slowly oozed blood.

"You just sat there and did nothing! How could you just stand there and watch as those men fell. That little bitch knows who I am because of you. Damn it, you little—I can't believe you couldn't control your emotions!"

"I wasn't expecting her to be so fucked up." She whispered.

"What did you say?"

"I'm sorry, Edward." She said.

"You damn well better be! Now I have to improvise this! Your job wasn't hard.! All you had to do was shake her up!"

He ran a stop sign. "You're lucky you only got that cut on your cheek. If you're docile and follow exactly what I tell you tonight, that's all I'll give you. I don't like punishing you, my little Enigma, but you have to learn."

Elisa bit her lip and stared into the night. Harley, if she could live through what the Riddler had planned she would be a perfect force to join with. She glared at the back of the Riddler's head. It took all her strength not to attack him. How dare he blame for her all of his mistakes. It wasn't her fault that Harley knew; and he would have cowered too if he had seen the jester she had. The rest of the way to their hiding place—a parking lot across from the hospital—was silent on her part. Elisa kept quiet brooding and complaining within her head as Edward continued to spout useless, heated words about her failures and her short-comings. The goons who were in the car were silent; they knew better than to speak.

When Elisa next saw Harleen, she was devoid of the make-up, but not the costume. She walked from the hospital.

The fear and surprise that flashed through her face when Edward pulled up the sleek, black van alongside her as she hurried towards the side of the building, caused Elisa discomfort. The woman should have kept her mouth shut. Could she really handle the Riddler?

Edward rolled down the window; Harleen didn't have a second to act as she was sprayed with sleeping gas. She fell to the pavement and was soon gathered into the van which sped off, unseen. Elisa stared at her.

There were no witnesses, no blood this time. Poor Harleen Quinzel.

Hell was awaiting her and Lucifer sat happily in the driver's seat, just mulling over all the horrible, and painful torture he could put her through.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"_**I was all dressed up, awaiting my judgment by the devil; yet all the while a dark angel, a joker among lords, stood with his hand outstretched to me. Our fingertips were almost touching, but I was hesitant—there were tears in his eyes."**_

* * *

Speeding; both his heart and vehicle. He sped through the busy city streets with a deafening pulse. He was met with no lack of stares from the costumed children, the glamored adults. It was Halloween, and of course, the perfect night for the Riddler to strike once again.

This would be one of those nights that something happened in his days as Batman that Bruce Wayne would never forget. He had been feeding his son when Alfred had rushed in, announcing that the police commissioner was calling. The news the man soon after gave him was just the beginning of one of the most chaotic nights Bruce had had in three years. Later, when he glanced back on this event, he would see signs he should have seen before. He would understand the beginning and forever regret his failure to change the end—a blame it would take months to conquer fully.

On that night the Riddler had made his next move, a plot that at first seemed easily dealt with, but one in which the action taken had a consequence that would shape the future of all involved in the Riddler case and shatter the world of one individual in particular. Yet, Batman knew nothing of this, those consequences were to be the shrapnel of a bomb that was ticking away as he rushed through the streets. For the moment he was focusing on both the road and the information he had been afforded by Gordon.

It seemed a Pamela Lillian Isley, a professor at Gotham University and a close friend of Harleen Quinzel's, had been taken hostage in the darken halls of Arkham; again Arkham was the Riddler's chosen stage. Of course, Bruce reasoned, it was a place that Harleen felt was a part of her and it was the perfect playground to continue to shatter her hopes and attempt to do the same to her life.

And what a night to strike.

Batman's eyes were trained ahead of him and on the few number of cars, the stares he received from them. His attention was on the unusually empty highway. Few drove on Halloween night—in Gotham who could blame them? That would just be tempting the devil. Yet it appeared Harleen cared not for such chances. She'd learn the secret art of dealing with the whimsical circumstances of Gotham, and in such a way that Bruce was beginning to be unnerved by it. Harleen had undergone a drastic change since his first meeting with her. He knew the stress she was under, having been in her situation before. He knew the feeling of helplessness that followed being both threatened yourself and being the cause of harm brought to those close to you. Yet, she had never suffered his loss; he was determined to see to that, but he could understand the reason for her change. It nevertheless made him uneasy. There was something in her mannerism that was becoming distorted.

Harleen was an agent of disorder, but her practice had thus remained legal. He was determined to keep it that way, because this pressure was certainly getting to her. She could recover from it no matter what path her life from this point would take, but which way the recovery went was the concern Batman held. Like hell he would allowed her pushed off the precipice of sanity.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel and he grit his teeth, pressing his foot just a little more against the gas pedal. Arkham was close now. He had to get there before Harleen acted rashly. He was little comforted by the fact that she had kept her word. She had informed him beforehand, but if he was even slightly slower than she wished, she would more than likely act upon her own devices. He knew it and he glanced upward as he passed a sign, directing him to the exit he would have to take from the highway. His heart did nothing to calm in relief; she could be gone by now for all he knew.

He parked some distance from Arkham and stealthily made his way toward the dim building. From the outside he could see nothing amiss, but that was as bad a sign as any. To make the situation even more foreboding, silence permeated everything. That _**was**_ a bad sign. He felt his gut clench as he aimed his grappling gun at a close building and used a device on his belt to pull up and onto the roof. From there he leaped to the to top of Arkham Asylum.

For a moment he made no further movements, listening closely over his strained breathing to make out any sound. He had no idea where Harleen was waiting. She could have already made her move, she could have been caught. He refused to think anymore upon it and took a couple of steps towards the door that opened from the asylum to the roof.

He didn't want to believe she was brash enough to just waltz into the place. His temper piqued minutely at such a thought. She hadn't—his pace quickened slightly. She wouldn't—his hand reached for the latch. He began to turn twist his wrist—Oh she-

"I don't think that's smart."

He whipped around, his heart leaping at the feminine voice that had invaded the silence. He almost gasped at the figure revealed in the moonlight. How did she get up there without attention? It was Harleen Quinzel, only she was dressed in a frighteningly familiar manner that with his knowledge never meant well.

Her face glowed paper white in the night, her eyes ringed in black and her mouth painted the same shade. Her blonde locks were teased into pig-tails and her attire was an ensemble of crimson and onyx.

She stuck her hands, decorated by black gloves with holes for her fingers, into the pockets of her jeans, which were compromised of an alternating red-black pattern in four segments.

"Aren't you a little too old for Halloween costumes?" His voice stated gruffly.

It was the style she was donning that caused him concern, not the fact that she was in a costume. She frowned, "What I'm wearing, man-bat, has no relevance to his situation whatsoever. I was getting ready for a party, but I believe even you can deduce what my interruption was, so are we going to do something productive or what? I'll be more than happy to go on with my plan myself." Her eyes were hard.

"What's the situation?" Having to ask ebbed at his nerves.

"I've not been inside, so I have no way to know where our hostages currently are, but I'd predict somewhere on the third, or ground floor. I'm expected to make an appearance so the place shouldn't be too hard to locate."

"Hostage_**s**_?" More than just Ms. Isley?

"Yes," Harleen nodded, her eyes darting to the roof door and then back to Bruce's hidden face. "Dr. Isley is a hostage, but they've taken the Joker hostage as well. I was dealt the ultimatum of coming here within an hour of the Riddler's call or they both would be killed. It's been twenty minutes—you drive fast—so that gives us time to figure this out."

Bruce was very uncomfortable talking to this disguised Dr. Quinzel. Her disposition was filled with worry, but she was calm as well—she had to be. Her look was too similar to the Joker's, however. She was like the queen of the court to his jester. It was just a costume, though, she had a right to be inspired by her patient. It was suppose to be a chilling resemblance, at least he told himself that as he slightly inched away from the door. Just a costume prompted by life...

"Why hold the Joker hostage? What importance does he have?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I couldn't tell you, but I'm sure no matter their logic it's not comforting. The bulk of their forces will be situated on the floor I'm expected to appear on in order to rescue the two prisoners." She placed a hand beneath her chin.

"So what had you planned on doing?"

Harleen walked over to a gridded covering on the roof, that opened to blackness and without much trouble removed it. "First of I all, I _**don't**_ plan on using the door there. You may if you like, but I'm going to find out where Pam and the Joker are being kept. This is the entrance to Arkham's air system."

"And then?" He was curious now, she might actually be onto something.

"I'm going to announce to all of Arkham that I have arrived. The Riddler's not in there; it's his accomplice. You've heard of her, right? Enigma?"

"Harleen, showing yourself is not a smart move."

"So says you, my friend's in there and I'm going to let everyone know just who they decided to mess with. Besides, I'm not as completely inept as you think. I don't have the means of taking out most of the Riddler's croonies. I need you to do that. They probably have a communication system so you're going to need to take them out quickly. I have a gun, wits, agility, and I'm good with thinking on my feet. The rest is up to you."

"You don't have a plan do you?"

She sat down on the edge of the vent and swung her feet over the side. "Does that bother you? I've a basic idea of what I want accomplished, but you must admit, we're going into this blind, don't you think? We have no way to know what they're doing or how many there are. Improvisation is sounding more and more like the best route of action."

"Fine, you do what you must, but I _**will**_ be watching you. I'll take out as many of them as I can. Take this and contact me if you need any help or if you gain control of the situation." He wasn't optimistic of the latter as he threw her a small circular device with a black switch on its top. "And here, if you're taking the air vents, you may need this to have an escape." He tossed her another device. This one had a clock—it was blank now—and an adhesive strip on the back. It was a small explosive. She grinned.

"Thanks, Bat! I'll be calling ya." He nodded to her and she disappeared into the darkness of the air vent. "I'll be watching you," he called to her before breaking down the rooftop door. A part of him questioned his own rationality for giving her such faith.

Let the infiltration begin.

* * *

The man struggled, vainly, Bruce thought as he bound his hands before pushing him to the side with the rest of his thrashing crew. His eyes trailed to the entirety of the room. There were a few more nurses, doctors, and staff huddled against the far wall. They still hesitated to move, but it was obvious they were more at ease than before. They watched him intensively, as if that would gain them some insight as to what to do next.

This was the third room he had taken out. He glared down at the thugs, once again, glad they had had no time to contact anyone. His eyes trailed to the television that hung in the room as it flashed to life. Harleen had announced her arrival. He was amazed that the other lackeys hadn't rushed to find her.

Afterward, he'd heard little from her, despite the sound of an explosion. It sounded controlled and when he had used the device as a two-way communicator, he knew she had still been alive. She had been taunting Enigma. He grimaced and clenched the anxious tingle from his hands while turning his back to the scene of captors turned captured.

That was when his side spoke. It was Harley and without another word he was rushing from the room searching for her. In route he called the police.

His shock upon entering the room where she had been fighting was too much to conceal.

Four men all in various degrees of pain lay on the floor. One was unconscious, a nasty lump on his head; one was bleeding from the hand, whimpering. There was also another sporting a bump to the head, but he was awake yet too frightened to move. The last and youngest lie with bullet holes in his jeans—tears falling uncontrolled.

All of this—he felt his stomach roll—was done by _one_ small woman. This was madness; the work of vindication, not logic. Shock so clouded his mind, the girl was gone from the room before he could reprimand her.

"Did she really do all of this?" He asked, his mind still more apt to believe otherwise. Harleen Quinzel wouldn't do this.

"You think the Joker did it?" He raised his eyes and saw the ginger-headed woman staring at him.

Her eyes had lost some luster. "She calls it an act. Batman, Harley's losing it. She needs off this case—off of work until this is taken care of. I told her to fight back, but I never thought she would be able to do this." She shook her head. "No I knew she would, but she was...having too much fun with it. She needs help." He walked over to her while she muttered this, sort of to herself in the final sentences. He worked at releasing her bounds.

When he offered her a hand, she took it, but her eyes fell to the shattered window. "She didn't lose Enigma." Batman halted. "What?"

"She let Enigma go. She wanted her to give the Riddler the message that she wasn't afraid. What have I done? I told her to be strong—I've done this; instigated stress into madness..."

"Pamela, right?"

The woman nodded. He shook his head. "She's the one acting, she chose this. I'll get her help. Now you go wait in the front lobby, the police will be arriving soon."

She moved away. "No, I knew she would act like this. I just—I'm sorry...so sorry...to her and you."

"You've done nothing wrong." He waved her away and within seconds he heard the door shut.

The Joker was being silent: no quips, arrogant remarks, he hadn't even appeared to have noticed his enemy's arrival. He had just released his binds when the man seemed to realize who was there. His eyes had carried a distant look, locked on the door where first Harley and then Pam had taken their leave.

"What have you done, Joker?" Batman accused once he saw he had the man's attention now.

"Me," a smile curved his lips, "I've not done a thing. Not a thing. I've been sitting here the entire time. My Harley gave quite the show, didn't she?"

He was pulled to his feet and faced forward. "This isn't something to enjoy, Joker. You've twisted her."

The man gave a snort at that, and something told Batman the indignation he heard it was genuine. "You think I could have _**twisted**_ her? Now, why would I want to go and do a thing like that?"

"Because you enjoy those games. You like taking people who seem incorruptible and proving them wrong." Batman pushed him forward towards the door. He lead him outside while the Joker still shook his head.

"You'd be comforted if I said I'd taken her down to my level just because I saw potential in her, wouldn't ya? You could fix her if _I_ was the one to have done it. So you lie to yourself, convincing your mind that I'm the one who pushed her until she's almost completely snapped. You just couldn't see it, though, Bats. I could. I didn't think she would have progressed so quickly, but Harley's had this in her since the first time I saw her pretty little face. I know those of my own philosophy when I see them, and she's one."

Bruce stared at the Joker. He licked his lips, but though his voice carried its normal tenor it was less pronounced, more contemplative. The Joker almost seemed as lost as he was, and that did not sit well with Batman at all.

"Harley's nothing like you. She's stressed and acting out. She'll never be like you, Jack."

The Joker grinned, "Oh, trying for a low blow? You know my secret identity while I'm still blind to yours, like a _**bat**_?" He laughed, the sound just as cold, angry, and smug as he remembered. "I'd figured out as much when my doctor discovered the clippings. Ya know, Harls and I went to the same high school? Just think...had I met her, she could have already been my Harley Quinn. So when you plan on having that revealed to the public, Batman? The true identity of the Joker— Jack Napier, an abused and troubled teenager whose home abuse pushed him over the edge. That makes me sound like I have a right to be insane."

"I'm getting your doctor moved. In her state she isn't well enough to treat you or anyone else for that matter."

"You do what you think will help society. And Bats, you were wrong—she's already like me."

Batman would not admit how true that was. He wouldn't because that wasn't the whole truth—it just wasn't. Right? Right! The man's cell was coming up. He tightened his grip and sped up the pace. The Joker chuckled.

"Aw, are visiting hours already over? And here I was enjoying our little time of catch up. Okay, lock me away, B-man, but know this. You've failed her once, the police have too. You've broken her expectations by allowing one girl to have her face carved. If you don't catch that Riddler guy soon, then I will have a perfect little partner. My red jester hasn't spread her wings yet—there's still a chance to stop the grand fireworks and theme music."

Bruce and the police had failed her again not long after the Joker had spoken his words.

The next day, Taylor Henderson, the first public victim of the Riddler was found dead in her hospitable bed. She had been given a drug overdose and on her hospitable gown was pinned an unmistakable, emerald question mark. With it was a note,

_A deuce of days shall fall before you are given my next call. I have a plan, all shiny and new, and my, have I a riddle for you._

_She makes you laugh, she makes you grin, but missing she has gone for her ultimate sin. I'll carve her up, I'll do her in, unless you can find her to defend._

_Tell me Batman, can you save the blonde Harley Quinn?_

_Riddle me this...riddle that...I'm not afraid of you, you big black bat. Watch for my sign._

* * *

Confirmation, it was the best feeling Harleen could have asked for.

She stepped quietly from the hospital, relief and satisfaction floating about her in waves. Edward Nashton was the Riddler, and now he would be found. The games were almost over; part of her rejoiced in that—no more madness and unbidden fear—the other part was sad to be losing the excitement of a challenge. She shrugged, ignoring the feeling of loss she could already feel with the horizon.

She could go back to normal. Treating the Joker and that would be it. There wouldn't be anymore riddles to figure out. What would she do with all the new free time? She smiled to herself.

She would have to quit her job at Arkham eventually, take the necessary precautions, and gain visitation with the Joker. There would be no more treating him after she became too involved, and she was aware of how close that moment seemed—she knew, despite all the glares she would receive, how deep she really was.

She was in love with a psychopath. She shrugged and raised her eyes to stare ahead of her. Her skin still tingled from the minutes she had taken to scrub the paint off, and she could still taste the bitterness of her now absent lipstick. Home, food, bed; it all sounded heavenly at that point.

She would never make it home, though. She had just stepped out of sight of the building and any witnesses when a black van pulled up beside her, tires screeching. She gasped and raised her head to stare into the driver's window.

Her blood ran cold at the bright hazel eyes that seemed to glow in the streetlight. His smile stretched his mouth.

"Nice night, isn't Harley?"

Edward's smooth voice droned on pleasantly, but his sneer canceled out his casualness. "Too bad you won't be seeing it much longer."

He was fast. He had already come for her? She was speechless. Really what did one say when faced with their executioner? Yes, her harbinger of death; she could see the intent in his eyes. Her sapphire orbs caught on Elisa's jade ones for a moment before in a haze of gas—sleeping gas the Riddler had pulled out and pumped in her face—her eyes shut to the world.

Yet she still wasn't scared. Death, now that would be an adventure.

Only she could never just be allowed to die. That would have been too easy.

The first prickle of sense that returned to her was awareness, plain and simple knowing that she was still breathing. It was that instant when one is transported back to the world from the utter blackness of sleep. She was alive.

The next was all her feeling and with it pain. Her body felt like a lead weight. She was lying in some strange angle, one that was straining her muscles. She had to move, should move, and her head was throbbing. She shifted and that's when she regained another sense.

Disuse, decay, dust. The smell of the place invaded her nose, her lungs and she coughed as she turned on her back, discovering her wrists and ankles were bound. Each made her skull feel more and more close to splitting. She gritted her teeth and opened her eyes. Immediately she hissed at the bright, new bulb that seared her irises with its yellow light.

"Is the light hurting your eyes?"

She had clenched her eyes shut after her run in with the bulb, but now they flew open and, averting her gaze she found the man who had crooned _**so**_ sympathizingly. He was leaning against the wall on the far side of her, observing her with a little too _**much**_ interest. She glared at Edward, steeling her wits immediately.

"Oh, how frightening." He smiled cruelly. "So tell me how are you feeling? Nauseous? Anything? You're in for a treat, Harley. You see unlike that girl, Taylor, I'm going to personally take care of you."

She stiffened. Taylor? Was she—the sick bastard! She bit her lip as Edward rolled up his sleeves. "Elisa, be a dear and turn on the video camera. You get to be a star, Harleen."

It was then she saw the woman on the other side of her, holding a small camcorder. She glared coldly up at her and into the camera. She shut her eyes when Edward merely crossed over her supine body to get to the woman.

"Well, hello Gotham. Some of you may know me, but most aren't aware of who I truly am. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. I am Edward Nashton, but many of you will know me as The Riddler. I decided it was finally time you saw the face of your terror. I couldn't let that little girl tell on me, so I hope you understand her predicament, but I wanted to have a rather eventful introduction so I brought someone along with me."

He moved out of the way and Harley felt the camera on her. She twisted her head away, not speaking when the Riddler rifled on.

"Give a bright greeting to Gotham, Dr. Quinzel." She shut her eyes and refused to look. She heard the Riddler sigh, "I think she's mad at me, but you see kiddies and mommies and daddies...she's going to be my example. You see Harleen here decided to go against me with the police. She's a smart one, but she has no sense. You play with fire and you'll get burned. Harley here decided to play with stakes out of her league. So let this be a lesson to all of you to watch yourselves."

Harleen curled into herself. Anger, fright, shock at the final thudding realization caused her blood to run cold, her heart to hammer, and words to utterly escape her. She was shaking, and she felt tears gather and seep from her eyes. She squeezed them tighter when she heard him move towards her. She tried to will her body to cease its reaction. She couldn't stop. Harleen was terrified, she knew she was going to die.

"Awww," his sickeningly sweet voice broke the silence, "Elisa, get over here! Look, Gotham." She heard him crouch down and his gloved hand ran along her cheek. "You finally regret it, Harleen? Do you finally understand just what your little mouth and stubbornness has earned you? Do you want to take back everything that you said and did, hm?" His hand stopped beneath her chin. "It's too late," she heard the smirk in his voice. "What's said and done cannot be reversed." His hand came to hover for a moment over her neck before he pressed now, firmly, gently, and very slowly. Her eyes flew open as he cut off her air supply. "You're about to learn what happens to those who don't stay in their place," he hissed, "those who try to become a queen in a world where they aren't needed. You're going to be a grand example." He released her throat and she gasped, her chest rising quickly.

Elisa giggled from behind the camera. Edward grinned to her and began to walk away. "My little Enigma will now take over for a moment while I go gather the necessary supplies. Don't go changing that dial, folks."

Harley watched him leave the dingy, dusty room in what appeared a condemned apartment building, or one that had been under construction but was now at a hiatus. She bit her lip.

"You going to continue crying? Are you finally scared? This is what you get with playing with the big boys. Where's the Harley that challenged me in the Asylum? Was that just an act? You're pathetic."

"You're the pathetic one," Harley whispered. Elisa growled and placed the camera on the ground. Harley craned her head. "Edward is just as pathetic, but he has a madness you don't. You have the potential, but all you do is follow his orders. You're not scary."

Elisa chuckled and walked over to her. She stared down at her with satisfaction and leaned over her. "Says the bound girl. The hostage is quite mouthy." She grabbed her by the collar of her blazer. "Maybe I should give a little piece of my mind." Harley cocked her eyebrow. "You do that, bitch. I mean you couldn't beat me when I was unrestrained, so you just have a may-day beating a person when they're down." She watched as Elisa's mouth firmed up and twitched. She raised her hand. "You just can't be docile can ya?"

"And you appear to be having fun, but, alas I must interrupt. Get back over to the camera."

Edward entered flanked on either side by a thug of his. He smirked at Harley and then bowed to the camera. "Ya ready folks?" He gestured to the two thugs who grabbed her away from Elisa, who scampered back to the camera, picking it up after a glance at Edward.

"I'm back, you must forgive my little Enigma for her excitement. Alright, boys, hold her down on her stomach." He reached in the pocket of his emerald pants. He pulled out a modest sized pocket knife and held it up. He calmly walked over to Harley who was then being held down. She wasn't struggling, but her eyes as before were closed.

"How I've waited for this," Edward muttered and ran the blade gently down her cheek. She shivered at the feeling of the cold steel. "All of Gotham is watching, Dr. Quinzel, so I have one request, be as _**expressive**_ as you want. Give the audience what I'm hoping for. I know you won't disappoint me; that would be bad for you, dearie." He removed the knife from her skin and lifted her blazer and her crimson blouse as far up as it would go.

She was still shaking, now as a result of exposure to the cool air as well. She felt Edward trace her Joker Card tattoo on her back . "Well, well...you are a jester aren't you? An Agent of Chaos indeed. I bet _**your**_ Joker loved it. I'll not corrupt this little thing, besides it would take away from my signature." She tensed as his leather encased fingers were replaced by something sharp and cold. This was it. She was determined not to give him any satisfaction. She remained stiffened as the blade was removed.

"Any words before I begin." She opened her eyes. "Go to hell." She spat, clenching her fists. Edward laughed cruelly, and then he plunged the knife into her upper back.

She had been determined not to scream, but at that she shrieked, the agony overriding her stalwartness. Tears poured down her eyes, but after the initial pain she only panted. She would not whimper, but he was satisfied enough.

She knew she wasn't to die then. No, first would come the torture—days and days, she figured. The warmth of blood bathed her back when instead of removing it he began to carve mercilessly. She tried to quieten her screams, but all she tasted was blood, all that stained her was blood. She whimpered, screamed, cried saline tears that mingled with the blood she had drawn from her lips.

It was all agony, as she felt his nimble fingers guide the knife. He had pulled out and stabbed her three times when she felt her vision become hazy, her brain overloading. She gave one last shriek as he stabbed her for the fourth time before she fell into an awaited blackness, her painful groans and his excited mutterings ringing in her ears.

* * *

Bruce had been cradling his son, flipping through channels when his eyes caught on the news. They widened and he shot up, startling Thomas, who had been asleep. His infantile cries then came as Bruce ran through the house calling Alfred's name. Selina had just walked in when Bruce ran past her, handing off their son as he went.

"**Do you like my little signature? I think it's lovely, don't you? Batman, only you can save her...only you...I've already set my terms. They're on their way to Gotham PD now."**

Selina swallowed the bile in her throat at the image. Harleen Quinzel, the unfortunate dear, was out cold—the woman knew from pain. Her face was haggard, but blood was drying and still oozing from the wounds he had inflicted on her back.

From the once creamy skin that lied above the tattoo on her lower back, four question marks were carved in angry, deep, lines. They all centered a single dot. The flesh had been cut off with the carefullest—and thus most excruciating—precision. Selina felt her stomach clench and she quickly left the room to tuck Thomas in, to hell with this. She was helping.

That sick bastard would pay, Harleen needed to be rescued.

Selina knew this out of the depths of her heart. She merely wanted to help, but Bruce's reasonings were even more complex as he dialed the Commissioner's home number. He wanted to help the girl, but he also knew that the more and more her psyche was tried the greater the risk for her sanity was.

She had to be rescued before she lost her mind.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

"_**The crackling music started; I was dancing through the fire and when I next awoke Harleen Quinzel would be no more, and a string-less puppet, a queen of spades would take her place; a phoenix was about to rise from the ashes."**_

* * *

"Dayes," the guard almost jumped at the Joker's voice suddenly cutting the silence that had surrounded them on the way to the counseling room.

He turned a pensive eye to the man who smiled, "You, uh, seem nervous. Anything in par-_**tic**_-ular bothering ya?" The guard gulped.

Howard Dayes, the guard who had been given the job of being the Joker's keeper; the guard who also happened to be part of the network of resources the Joker claimed to have in the outside world, looked at the man in cuffs with a cautious glance. He was the same guard who had aided Dr. Quinzel, having been thrown from the elevator earlier, and now he slowly nodded to the patient to whom he was serving.

"I'm all ears, Dayes, because apparently it has to do with me." The Joker grinned, "Don't think I don't notice the skittishness in your eyes. Also your grip, I believe it'll be in your best interest to loose it a little, hm?" He nodded as Howard slacked his hold just slightly. "I'll tell you once we get in your session room, Boss."

"Do you have a good excuse to tell Harleen why she'll need to leave for a moment?"

An orderly passed them, and Howard faced forward, silent. He relaxed once they were alone again. "Actually she's the person I need to talk to you about."

The Joker paused and his form tensed. "You planning on asking her on a date?" Yes the Joker was jealous, very much so. He'd not harm the boy for gandering, though. He didn't know that the girl as far as he could perceive belonged to him. His eyes, however flashed dangerously. Howard laughed nervously, "Absolutely not, sir. It's just that," the Joker moved again after the reply and listened to Dayes continuing as he opened the door to the empty session room, "she's not here."

He awaited for the man to glance around first and when his gaze centered back on him he shivered. "Then, Dayes, would you be a dear and tell me exactly why she isn't here?"

It had been two days since the Halloween break-in. After that had followed the weekend. The Joker had seen nothing on Harley's countenance that would have alluded her absence. Was she sick? He hadn't scared her off, she hadn't quit. He knew her character and he'd be damned if he was proven wrong. He sounded angry to Dayes, but within—he admitted—he was concerned. Her quick descent was not something he had wanted. He appreciated a partner, but there had always been a part of him that had wanted Harley to not to fall as he had; he rather envied her more optimistic view.

"Boss, you may want to sit down," there had never been a time when he was as relieved that the Joker was cuffed than now. "Or you can stay standing," he added, after seeing his leader's eyes narrow.

"Just spit it out, your attempts to skirt around are beginning to annoy me, and would you like to press your luck on the question of whether I can get out of these?" He shook his wrists and the handcuffs rattled. Dayes didn't want to tempt fortune. He wrung his hands. "She's been kidnapped...by the Riddler."

"The Riddler, eh?"

He kept his voice controlled. The Riddler? THE RIDDLER?! So the man thought his girl was good sport, huh? Was he having fun with her? How badly had she been tortured already? The Joker knew the abuse the Riddler would give; he knew those types well. His father had been a prime example. Oh, he would pay. Already delicious _**suggestions**_ whizzed through his head, but he pushed them away for the time being. It didn't matter how it had happened or when; the Riddler had his Harley. He wasn't going to sit around and wait patiently to find her dead in the river or something like that.

"The Riddler, huh," he repeated and then grinned devilishly at Howard, "well, I'll _**tell**_ _**ya what**_ you're gonna do. You're gonna come over here, and uncuff me. Then you're gonna turn the other che-_**ek**_. I'm leaving."

He raised his wrists and tilted his head at the guard. "And if you don't come and do it _**now**_...I'm gonna find my own way out—which I will, trust me—and then I'm gonna kill you and then you'll miss my show." He licked his lips and and raised a brow at the man, shaking his wrists again.

Howard was about to jump into action, already fumbling for the right key with his fingers, when the Joker paused, "Wait there, Howard, I've got a better idea. You find that key, you keep it out, but you're gonna take me down to the basement to the Archives room. I need my old duds." He grinned when the guard consented and taking his shoulders lead from the room and down the hall.

As he was steered back towards the elevators he pondered over his rather mundane if not smoothly-running escape. The more attention he garnered the bigger the hassle it would be for him to get out. Honestly, even _he_ was entitled to have one day where he did what he had to and be done with it all, no flourish added. At the moment, he had no want to cause mass chaos; it just wasn't in him. The elevator dinged and he and his _**escort**_ stepped in.

There was a young nurse already awaiting in the small space. Howard pressed him into a corner and took the place in-between him and the girl. The Joker leaned forward a little—as far as Howard's grip would allow—and turned his dark gaze to the woman, who nervously gazed at him from the corner of her eyes after she had pushed the button for the ground floor. Howard had requested the basement as they had entered.

He gave her a smile that clearly denoted mischief. "Hi."

"Be quiet," Howard told him in his gruffest voice and the Joker made a show to glare up at him. The girl fidgeted in her spot as the Joker just continued to stare at her with his smile. He snickered when her floor came and she rushed out of the elevator. The rest of the way to the basement he lounged comfortably against the back wall. He also was silent on the way to the Archives room. It was only when they arrived before the security coded door that the Joker turned to Howard.

"Now, uncuff me." Howard did so immediately and then without further insistence unlocked the room's door. The Joker rubbed his hands together. "Now Howard, I'm a man of my word, but you see I just can't let you go, you understand," he nodded to the man who paled in fear. He was so frightened that he forgot he held any weapon—not that a taser was all that threatening in regards to the Joker. The criminal flexed his fingers and pounced.

He rammed Howard's head into the wall beside the now open door, and watched as he sank to the floor, moaning. "You see, without Harley to tease, Arkham's become rather boring, so I've decided it's time to go have fun again." He added to himself, 'Right after I find Harleen, that is.' Technically, he was remaining a man of his word. He grabbed Howard by the collar of his uniform and threw him flat on the floor with an unforgivable force. He then whistled as he skipped over to him. He winked at the man who was too disoriented to move and without any hesitation stomped on his stomach.

He shrugged at the painful, strained grunt the man gave before he passed out. He wasn't going to kill him; dead bodies at this moment in time would cause more hassle. Yet, he had to keep his image in some way. He thought the guy looked pretty beat up for now and he began to waltz to the door into the Archive Room.

"Officer Dayes!" The Joker chewed on his cheek and shrugged with a dark glower.

He whipped around to watch as a woman—one of the interns—came running down the hall. She fell to the ground by the unconscious guard.

"You'll pay for this you-" She had started to mouth, but once she looked up at who the culprit was, all words left her. He watched her mouth gape. He raised a brow. "And?" He gestured for her to continue. He took a step towards her and she bolted up.

He grinned. She was going to try to run. He took another step which became a leap when she took off. He grabbed her arm and she yelped as he pulled her back against him. "Sorry, toots, you're coming with me. So let's be a good girl and shut up, hm?" Using his other hand he nodded her head. "Good. Let's go." He dragged her into the room and shut the door behind him. He then pushed the girl into a chair behind a desk and grabbed a roll of duck tape that sat atop the surface. An 'Out to Lunch' sign sat on the table.

The Joker held the woman down and pulled some tape off and began to tie her to the chair. "Handy, huh? People should be more careful with what they leave on their desks."

First her hands behind the chair, then her legs to the chair's, and then he placed a strip on her mouth. "There we go, now I've got some searching to do. Hm, if I were the records where would I," he turned his eyes searching, "Ah ha!" He walked leisurely over to a rather large filing cabinet and searched the labels until he came to **H-K**. He opened it and after moments of thumbing through pulled out a hefty file and extracted a key from it. He waved his hand at the incapacitated woman. "Don't go moving, be back in a sec." She whimpered, but within minutes he was back, carrying a shoulder bag. "I can't leave my clothes and all my knives here. People just don't know how to take care of them, ya know. But I also can't leave here dressed as the Joker...people will get suspicious. So," he walked back over to the door and opened it once again, stepping outside.

He grabbed Howard Dayes and dragged him into the room and without a look to the woman this time, pulled him out of sight. He sat him behind some filing cabinets. He licked his lips and nodded. His clothes would fit and he proceeded to strip the officer of his uniform.

Afterwards he stripped himself and began to pull on the stolen clothing. He had pulled on the pants and had just latched the first button of the shirt when he heard the door open to the room open. He stealthily craned his head out to see the man who worked in the place walk in. He dropped his bag of food on the floor upon seeing the girl.

"What the-"

"Oh, I'm sorry did she take your seat?"

The man turned around only to be hit with the taser gun Howard had had on him. Luckily the door had closed or the guy's scream would have alerted the whole floor. The Joker pushed him into a wall where he was silenced as his head hit the hard surface. The woman gave a muffled scream as he fell to the floor.

The Joker ignored her and finished buttoning the shirt before tucking it in. He then disappeared back to where he had stashed the guard and yanked off the man's hat and pulled out his own shoes from his bag. He laced them up, walked out, placing the hat on his hat and adjusting his bag on his shoulder. He walked over to the woman. "Night toots," he grinned and she whimpered as he hit her on the back of the head with the taser gun.

He whistled as he maneuvered around the desk; after digging through the man's pocket he found his keys and took them, chuckling. He also grabbed the food bag, sticking it in his—he was a little hungry, but he had no time to eat then. He left the room with a leisurely swag to his step and began to make his way towards the parking garage where all the workers parked, fingering a knife he had taken from his own belongings as it rested in his pocket beside the bagged lunch.

Of course, it would have been _**too**_ easy if he hadn't met one final road block. Just as he was about enter the parking garage elevator, a voice called out to him—well to Officer Dayes.

"Dayes! You're not off shift yet!" He peered over his shoulder and when the man, a higher official maybe, got close enough, he grabbed the man, placing one arm around his head to stifle his gasp. The other wound tightly around his chest and brought his knife to the man's throat.

"As you can clearly see, I'm not Dayes, but, ah, that doesn't matter. C'mon, sonny, you're gonna ride with me. And in case you're thinking of getting all _**heroic **_don't. If you make any move, I'll cut your neck wide and paint this floor, got it?"

The man nodded, hissing as his neck was stabbed just slightly by the knife. The Joker dragged him into the elevator, out of the elevator into the garage, and then to the Director of Archives's van– he found it quite easily after pressing a button on the keys and the vehicle gave an answering chirp amid countless other cars. He threw the man into the passenger seat and jumped in, locking the doors, and throwing his bag into the back seats.

"Buckle up, this going to be bumpy," he twittered as he started the van and pulled out of the parking place. He sped from the garage and away from Arkham without another delay. The officer could do nothing but gawk at him while he merely grinned insanely, laughing as he pulled onto the freeway. Yes, by this point the guard knew who he was dealing with and that extinguished any ideas of escaping.

"Hey, bub, what can ya tell me about the Riddler, he sounds like quite the guy. Killing, going against Bats, taking hostages." He turned an eye to the guard and pulled off his hat, shaking his head to release his dark blonde hair. The guard shook his head. "I dunno, all I know is that he's taken Dr. Quinzel hostage."

The Joker smirked, "I know, Dayes told me _**all**_ about it. So what's he done to my naïve little doc? I want to know who I'm looking for."

"He's cut her up somethin' fierce, beaten her up pretty bad. He broadcasts his exploits on the news. Please I don't know anything else."

The Joker swerved across lanes of the highway, paying no heed to the cars that honked angrily at him. "Nothing else?" The officer shook his head. The Joker pursed his lips for a moment. "Then I guess you're no longer valuable to me, hm?" He unlocked the doors and reached over the frozen form of the officer and opened the passenger side. "Oh God," the officer stared up at him. "Please no."

"Bye! Sorry I don't have the time to kill ya. Give this to Batman for me, will ya?" The Joker laughed, placed a black joker card in man's front pocket, and pushed the him out of the moving vehicle and closed the door quickly, swerving back into the highway before he ran into the wall on the side. The guy would get a concussion at worst.

He swerved back into traffic and then chewed on his cheek. "At times like these, I regret my impromptu just a little. Hmmm...if I was the fruity Riddler would I hide with the Joker's Harley?" He tapped his hands on the steering wheel. "He's been in the Narrows, that'll be as good a place to start as any, besides I got a crew to gather." He glanced up at the passing road signs for the pull off back to the Narrows.

That narcissistic, cocky, copying bastard would get a taste of his own medicine. The Joker was back, and boy did have some goals to reach. Harley was the first. He would find her, he would. Nothing was going to stop him. He laughed dementedly, all the suggestions for punishing the Riddler floating back into his mind again.

"And...here...we...go!"

By the end of the day, his escape from Arkham would be published in the news. People would be questioned. Harley's absence had caused him to become bored—every one would think, even Batman. Without the doctor to twist there was nothing of interest there any longer. Gotham would be lulled into thinking that now they would have two criminals to deal with; two that may possibly join forces.

They were right, two people would join forces in this aftermath, but not who they thought.

* * *

Her tired eyes stared from her position on the floor out into the day revealed a window. How long had she been here? Harleen groaned and hissed as the dirty clothes she had been wearing caught on her newest wound. She felt tears of disgust fill her eyes. She had been given works; his own damn signature. She was basically branded his.

Her hands had recently been bolted to the floor. Her bladder was aching and she had discovered from experience that she would not be allowed the luxury of trips to the bathroom. Sobs caught in her throat. All they gave her was water; she was not fed. It was a web of humiliation and torture. She shut her eyes, no longer able to take the pressure and sobbed as she relieved her bladder.

Wasn't anyone going to save her? Batman had been given a challenge—which meant a riddle. If he could solve it, Harleen would be freed—like they had any choice when the answer to the puzzle was their location. She turned her head and replayed all the time she had been here in her mind. It was all blur of beatings until she passed out, long stretches of being alone, being given water, taunts which would then lead to beatings, and thus the process would repeat.

He had intricately cut her back. They would scar and she would forever carry it, if she escaped that was. He had forced her to use the bathroom on herself, he was starving her—her stomach was basically eating itself and she often felt nauseous. He had beaten her with a nightstick until she was thoroughly bruised. She hissed as she moved her lower body. Her jeans were ripped from where he had cut them and then burned her with hot wax. They were superficial, at most second-degree and would not scar, but they hurt. She had had her lip busted and her head beaten until she had a huge gash there. She could feel her head throbbing. Was her wound infected?

Yet, there had been times where she laughed. She had witnessed Enigma get punished as well. She had also been the victim of the hot wax. And not long after her own carving she had discovered that Engima had been attacked by the knife-wielding Edward too. The Riddler had given her a nice, deep cut on her arm and then wrote Riddler above it with the blade.

She chuckled, although her aching muscles protested it. The world was a funny place. Maybe the Joker was right. Maybe she did see the funny side. The Joker; her stomach fell, and her laughter quietened and became soft cries. Was he okay? Did he miss her? Had he really been attracted her or was it all just an act? Would she die before she got to kiss him willing?

She quietened down when she heard the sound of footsteps. She returned to gazing out of the window, wishing she could fade away and materialize out there in the sun, on the street, wherever she was.

"She's awake, Edward!"

Harleen tilted her head at Elisa and smirked upon seeing her busted lip. "Hey, we match!" She giggled. "What'd _**you**_ do to make Eddy mad?"

"Oh, it's nice to see you still possess such a grating sense of humor." Edward barked as he entered.

"It's nice to see you too, wife-beater. All I have is my humor, I mean I'm aware that I'm oh so attractive right now. Dirty, bruised, in pain, and waddling in my own squalor. I'm sexy, I know."

Edward walked over to her. She knew it was coming. He slapped her rather soundly, and she only blinked. "Ouch, now I know you're capable of more than that, Riddler." He growled at her and leaned down. "You just wait, Harley. I'll show you what I'm capable of if Batman doesn't come in time tonight. You'll be punished for his shortcoming."

Harleen went silent, glaring up at him. Batman would save her. He had to.

"Tell me, do you think he's solved it yet? Here's what I told him: A man was found murdered one Sunday morning. His wife immediately called the police. The police questioned the wife and staff and was given these alibis: The Wife said she was in bed reading a book. The Cook claimed she was cooking breakfast. The Gardener claimed he was planting seeds. The Maid claimed she was getting the mail. The Butler claimed he was polishing the silver. The police instantly arrested the murderer. Who did it and how did they know?" The Riddler smirked. "Then I said, from that answer is contrived her location. Yet there are a number of those found in this illustrious city, so I'll give you a little more. My author's uncertain yet my title's the same, I contain random text yet order's my aim. Read me one day and see my pages are totally bare. Try again another day and the words will be there. I'm not a book of magic although it may sound, I can predict the future, and inside, your life can be found. Move my eye, I become involved in lactic extraction. But that's just a clue, a minor distraction. What am I? There is only one of those near where Harley shall be found, and here's a hint: G-W. T."

Harley blinked at him.

"See if you can figure it out. Batman's had a day. You better hope he comes...torturing you is becoming boring. I'm ready to end this charade. If I have it my way, soon your intrusions will end permanently." He stepped on her hand, grinding his foot as he walked away. She grit her teeth and remained silent until they had left.

He was saving his worse torture for the night, if Batman didn't come. She was safe for now. She stared up into the blue sky, and Harleen herself attempted to decode the riddle.

* * *

The maid had done it. No mail ran on Sundays. Harleen was in an abandoned post office.

Bruce rested his hands on his temple. He only had four more hours. The last part was stumping him. He knew it spoke of a diary. It's authors were uncertain, but it had a concrete title. It was blank and then filled. It contained peoples thoughts which were random, yet ordered them by date. What did a diary have to do with a post office?

He tirelessly searched the internet, only stopping to eat. The hours were dropping like flies. Selina had begun helping too once she discovered her husband's distress.

"I'm going to help you, Bruce, you can't keep your life away from me. I've known about it so start letting me help. Besides, I'm Catwoman, not exactly your average house wife."

Those words of hers repeated as he glanced at the clock. He had two hours. There were 6 post offices in Gotham that were abandoned. He'd start with the ones closest to the Narrows and work out.

He had checked two with no success. There was thirty minutes left. He had jumped back into the Tumbler headed to the next one when someone called him on his communicator. He drove as he switched it on.

"Alfred?"

"Master Bruce, Selina and I have found where they are keeping Harley." His voice said, tinged with wear.

"And?" He heard Alfred fumbling. "The Riddler was talking about a stationery store. There's a Golden-Winged Tree Stationery store on Darlington Avenue right by one of the abandoned post offices."

"Thank you, Alfred. Thank Selina for me." He said curtly before speeding off. Darlington Avenue was one of the furthest. It would take twenty minutes to get here, even with his speed.

He would never be prepared for what he found, however. He had five minutes to spare when he pulled onto Darlington. He felt his heart sink at the sight. It was all rumble, construction, and chaos. He stopped the Tumbler and quickly got out. He scaled a building with his Gatling gun and began roof hopping over the buildings that remained, eyes alert for any sign of the stationery store and its neighboring post office.

He couldn't be sure how long it had taken him, but he landed atop an old general store and saw it. Across the street he made out the corroded, barely visible sign that read "Golden-Winged Tree". Beside it was the post office. He stared down at the street, littered with debris, but certainly not hindering. He jetted down, using his ropes and ran to the post office.

Inside it smelled of mold and the night made it almost unnavigable. His hand made contact with a switch and to his amazement, the light bulb above him hummed to life. This room was littered with old wrappers and cans. He picked his way through the various rooms, hearing nothing, and seeing nothing. Was he too late? He felt bile rise in this throat.

He came up a flight of stairs and saw that one of the rooms was lit. He rushed to it and opened the door quickly, hope raising in his chest until the door was fully open. That was when his stomach fell. This room stank of blood, of bile, of human excrement. It smelled of non-sanitation. This was where Harleen Quinzel had been. He only knew that because of the green card that hung from the lone and bare, yellow light bulb's chain.

He grabbed it.

_How disappointing Batman. I thought you were smart. Harley even figured it out, well not the name of the stationery store, but she didn't have the resources you did. _

_Plain and simple, it is my pleasure to tell you that you have failed. Come nighttime two days from now, Harleen Quinzel will be dead. I'm a very generous man in my challenge. I'll give you one more chance to find her. My boys will deliver the puzzle in the morning._

_You should have seen her face, Batman, when I told her you hadn't come. How her eyes just dulled. I knocked her out thereafter, but she's truly broken now, I believe. That'll make her punishment tonight all the more enjoyable._

_Goodnight and fare thee well, Batman, until next we joust._

The last bit had been quickly handwritten. Batman fisted his hand and yelled in frustration, falling to the ground. She was gone. He had to find her, this was his fight. He had lost her hope even more. He had failed her again! Failed her again!

His ears made out the sound of a starting car and then the screech of tires. He ran from the room towards the sound, but once he finally made it to a window there was no sign of the vehicle save tire tracks near the building. The sound of the speeding vehicle echoed; he'd never be able to pinpoint the direction.

He slammed his fist into the wall. He could just imagine the Riddler laughing. And Harleen—he shut his eyes and yelled again. This feeling of failure was terrible. The night couldn't get any worse.

"Bruce, did you find her?"

Bruce shook his head, "No," he whispered into his cowl, "she's gone. I was too late, Selina. The bastard's taken her to another hideout."

There was silence. "I'm coming home," he finally said. He began to walk from the room he had rushed into with a last glance at the window. Selina was still silent. That didn't bode well.

"Kitty-cat?"

"Bruce," her tenor was regretful, "the Joker's broken out of Arkham. It's on the news, the radio...I-"

"No, I should have known. Without his doctor to keep him occupied what else would he do?" He shut off the communicator and with a trudging step retreated from the building.

The night had gotten worse. He had failed at rescuing Harley and now Gotham had two psychopaths loose. Slowly he was beginning to believe this was becoming the worse day of his life second only to Rachel's death.

* * *

"He failed, Harley! Batman's not coming!"

Harleen cringed at the Riddler's giddy voice as he rushed into the room. "Come boys," he snapped and a group of men flanked him. They pulled her up and the Riddler grinned. "He's not coming. Batman couldn't solve my riddle and you were able to do in only hours. Now do you see how hopeless your faith in him was?"

Harleen had never voiced that she had any faith in him, but she knew her expression fell. Despite never vocalizing it, it was true that she had believed he would have come. He hadn't though. She was alone again. Alone...

"Awww, your eyes are just breaking my heart," he laughed cruelly and snapped his fingers again. One of the thugs behind her hit her on the back of the hit with something hard and she fell into blackness—something she was beginning to grow accustomed to. At least she wasn't beaten first this time.

"WAKE UP!" She jolted awake to find herself in a room that smelled of sawdust. She glanced up to see the wide grin of Edward as he towered over her. She was still tied about the wrists and feet, but she was no longer tethered to the floor.

"Well, hi, do you remember about I said about being punished if Batman failed? I meant it."

She steeled her resolve. "Then go on, stop yapping and get on with it. I haven't got all night to listen to you monologue about your damn ego." She grumbled.

His eyes widened. "What did you just say," his voice grew colder with every syllable. She spat up at him, only to have it land on her cheek, but she wouldn't lose face. He almost lost his smile, but managed to keep it as her insult backfired. Oh, but had she ever gotten him pissed. He began to circle her. He shook his head.

"How dare you speak like that! You're powerless, don't you see it?! No one cares about you and even if they did, they're all idiots. They failed to save you." He halted by her arms and leered down at her darkly. "You're a lonely, pathetic little bitch whose mouth is too big for her own good. I was going to be nice, but" he raised his foot and with the most strength he could muster stomped on her wrists again and again.

His eyes glowed as he smirked down at her. She bit her lip. It hurt...Oh, it hurt. She could feel her bones grinding. If he didn't stop her wrists were going to-

She screamed in the utmost pain as her wrists broke. Tears fell down her cheeks. She couldn't have stopped herself from sobbing if she'd tried.

"That must have hurt, Harley Quinn. Where's that mouth now, hm? No cares about you. Batman couldn't find you in time. Gordon and his little puppets don't even have the smarts to find me. No one knows where you are." He rifled on, laughing. He ground into her wrists with his heel, enjoying her screams as the pain intensified.

"Tell me you're sorry, Harley! Tell me how stupid you were."

"Go to hell." She groaned.

"Oh, bad choice there." He kicked her head, her neck. "Hollander, Kingston. Come hold her down while I up the curriculum of her lesson." She groaned. "No, passing out on me this time please." She gasped as a cold bucket of water was thrown on her.

"Elisa, go get more. GO!"

She saw the thugs come and her press to the ground. They were grinning at finally seeing this girl in true agony. Hopeless, broken. There was no one.

He began to kick her in the stomach, stomp if she turned. And for what seemed like hours—really it was only minutes—she would be soaked with water when she was near to passing out. All the while he told her all her faults, of those that had _**cared **_about her.

She was brought to tears and screams when one of his kicks cracked her ribs and instantaneously caused one of her arms to pop out of socket with the momentum. She whimpered, every breath hurting, every breath sounding like a low scream.

"Not even your work cares about you. The Joker escaped from Arkham." The Riddler sneered.

Her breath stopped and her blue eyes became wide.

"Yeah, it was broadcast over the radio as we came here. With you gone it was the perfect opportunity to escape. With you not to be expected why not get away while the chaos of your disappearance unfolds? You don't even have a job to return to. What a sad little life."

He was still kicking her, but her groans became coughs. And then she was laughing. The pain in her brain dulled, disappeared and she laughed. The Riddler felt even his own spine tingle as they rose in volume and tears flooded from her eyes. She laughed and laughed. She couldn't stop.

The Joker had broken out. Her heart soared. He would come for her. He would find out where she was.

"_**But don't you worry about the Riddler…He touches you and he will regret it, you'll see. Harley, I'm very, how you say, protective when it comes to my things, people should know better than to harm them."**_

His words repeated in her mind. She would get out and the Riddler would pay. She only hoped she could see him as the Joker tortured him. Hell, she wanted to torture him, watch him writhe in pain. She wanted to kill _**his**_ hopes.

Her chest was burning for air and as a result of her injuries, but she was still laughing and Riddler was still kicking her but now for slightly different reasons.

"SHUT UP! STOP LAUGHING! THERE'S NOTHING FUNNY!"

She snorted, but continued to laugh. Yes, there was much to laugh at. This was a funny world they lived in. The world was a joke! A big fat joke! She stared up at him, her vision going hazy for the umpteen time since her capture, but she was oddly happy, not in pain.

Maybe the pain was making her brain malfunction, maybe her laughter had deprived her of oxygen, but it didn't matter.

"I'm just smiling, because...now I see the funny...side." She broke into more giggles all insane before they abruptly stopped when her body became overloaded.

The Riddler's fists clenched. "Elisa!" He pivoted on her so quickly she was cowering. "You and Hollander have watch. There are clothes in the next room." He stomped away and she sighed in relief.

Her eyes trailed to Harleen. Did the Riddler know it? Harleen had snapped, she was no longer Harleen Quinzel. She turned to then stare at the retreating figure of Edward.

Tonight she would set her free. Enigma respected this woman and if Harleen had truly snapped then she would be even more perfect to take down the Riddler.

Elisa could taste sweet revenge already. She smirked.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

_**"Be careful where you tread,**_

_**I have set my mines.**_

_**You may have wanted me dead,**_

_**But in crimson the final joker shines.**_

_**I now enter as Harley Quinn."**_

* * *

A tingling rose slowly up her spine; the blackness was disappearing. Her laughter was echoing in her ears, but with each moment it became lower and more distant. Everything was replaced by a warmth that ascended over the back of her legs, her lower back, her—

She hissed and her pleasant awakening was over as the warmth assaulted the large wound she had on her upper back. She opened her sapphire eyes and threw her head back to glare at the person who she now felt holding her in the shower she found herself in. At first all she was met with was a face full of water. She coughed and then she met the eyes of her company.

"Why am I naked?!"

Elisa stared at her and Harley merely raised her brow, her eyes sparking in no lack of anger. She held her stationary as she put on her kindest smile, even though she was getting soaked in her own clothes.

"I'm cleaning you up, Harleen." Her eyes fell. "I never should have allowed Edward to do these things to you. I'm setting you free."

Harley tilted her head, her eyes growing narrow. "_**Why**_?" She elongated the word and smiled furtively. Elisa moved her further into the water and Harley hissed as the water further invaded her wounds, hit her sore muscles. Her cracked ribs were aching and her dislocated arm, hung limply by her side. The younger woman looked at her disfigured limb and picked it up. "Because I want to apologize. I like you, Harleen." She cringed in discomfort when Harley giggled, "You're lying," she sang. "C'mon, Elisa, Enigma, whatever. Why are ya _**really**_ helpin' 'lil old me? Hm?" She craned her head and stared at her in a mix of amusement and fury.

Elisa gulped; this girl may turn out to be more dangerous than the Riddler. You could see Edward becoming mad and you knew minutes before that he would turn on you, but with Harley all you knew was that she was angry. Elisa had seen the mood swings and their quick succession. That may have been an act before, but she wouldn't doubt their validity now.

"I hate him," Elisa admitted. She carefully aligned Harley's arm and then with all her strength popped it back into place. Harley groaned, but it didn't turn into a full scream. "I hate Edward. I want him to pay for doing this to me. He beats me, he rapes me, he thinks I'm good sport; an outlet for when no one else is around to hit and he's prissy. You never deserved this from him either, and I never should have allowed him to keep you this long. That is another thing he needs to be bit in the ass by karma for. You can take him, so I'm letting you go."

"I see," Harley nodded, "I get out, I take him out, and you get to return to what little life you can salvage."

Elisa nodded, "That's the plan. We both do." Harley leaned forward and stared into the water which turned a brown from her uncleanness as it went down the drain. Her shoulders quaked as she chuckled softly, "So, you truly despite him? You know, I think you can take care of him yourself, but, ah, you're scared aren't ya? Scared of what he might do if you overpower him only to have him escape. I hope you're aware that he's gonna find out you let me go and he's gonna punish you worse than ever. After he's finished with you, what he's done in the past will probably look like child's play." Elisa was silent for a moment then Harley felt her shift, now only holding her with one arm and saw her hand dip a wash cloth beside her. She was strong, she had to admit.

"You can't wash yourself with broken wrists." She said. Harley rolled her eyes, "I know, and you know what? They hurt like hell, so I wasn't think of trying. Bu_**t**_," she rolled her shoulders, "you're skimming over the subject, which tells me all I need to know. Hey, I'm just warning you. You are scared, but I'll tell ya something, okay?" She rolled her eyes to stare up at the girl who was now dispensing soap on the wash cloth, "I'm going to give Eddy a dose of his own torture when I'm working full capacity. I'm not going to take him out for your sake, but if you're freed as a result, then...that'll just be...a side effect. However, you think on this, I'll let you join me. And you can exact your own revenge."

Elisa began to scrub her then, Harley's words echoing through her mind. "Can you stand," she asked, hesitantly pulling her weight away. The woman was able to do so, though her legs would shake every now and then. "If you need to just lean with your shoulder against the side of the shower."

"I'm not a little kid, I know." Elisa said nothing to that and washed her legs, then told to get back under the spray. All the nasty, foul grime flowed off her. She shifted and brought her hands to Harley's hair. The woman might have allowed for this state of uncleanness but it told Harley volumes of her potential for kindness at the lengths she was going through, a side of the woman that the psychologist couldn't help but see and have some pity for—a pity that swiftly was battling her contempt.

"Want me to wash your hair? It's already wet, so why make such a waste?" She smiled slightly.

"Yeah, sure," Harley shrugged. Elisa rhythmically began to massage her scalp to loosen the dirt before applying shampoo and conditioner.

Minutes later Harley was sitting on the toilet in the sparse, but well-sized bathroom. She had a towel wrapped around her. Elisa was drying her own hair.

"This is Edward's parent's second home. They don't know he has a key."

"Ah," Harley waggled her eyebrows, looking around, "Eddy's own personal little shop of horrors." She laughed and recline her head against the wall. Elisa walked towards the door. "I'm going to go get you some clothes, stay here."

"Nope," Harley shook her damp locks, "I'm going to miraculously get of here without the use of functioning hands." Elisa left the room.

Harley closed her eyes. For a moment she was hushed, no sound, but suddenly she broke into hoarse laughter. She raised her head to stare at her dirty and discarded clothing on the floor. She could imagine what she looked like, even clean. Bruises on her face, a busted lip, and the cuts decorating her back in permanent art; red, glittering art. The thing about this art, though, was that she was going to change it, some way. She stopped laughing and snarled. She would not consent to having that man's signature on her back. She frowned for a moment longer, but was soon cackling again.

The Riddler wanted Harley Quinn? Oh, then, did she hope she satisfied that. She'd give the show of a life time and send him to whatever underworld that accepted him with a hell-raising laugh. She could just imagine the fun.

And the rules she use to follow; such idiotic, idealogical things they proved to be . Where had they gotten her in the end? Here, beaten, and well, she finally saw the truth now. Chaos licked at her, called her name, and she was more than happy to answer. She reached out and fully embraced it—her mind churned into sick, beautiful ebony and the most exquisite crimson. It was all death, blood, and pain. Every little piece was falling into the puzzle. Harley...Harley Quinn was out to play and ready to leave her own mark on the world. She licked her battered lips, energy sizzling through her.

Who wanted to mess with this angelic Eris first?

The door opened and Harley raised her now wide eyes to glare at the intruder only to smile deviously when she saw it was Elisa again—she was now sporting dry clothes. The woman was carrying a bundle atop which rested a hair brush.

"You want your hair dried before you go? You're already weak enough without catching a chill too."

Harley nodded, "Yeah, I'd like that, on the chance, you know, you're not trying to stall me just so Edward can have an even better time beating me to death too." Her voice fell to hot suspicion. "No, I've already got enough on my head for releasing you. I don't want to be punished for a failed escape attempt. That would be worse than the beating I'm going to get when I tell him I let you go," she reassured as she bent down and retrieved a hair dryer from beneath the vanity.

Harley stared at her when she stood back up, "You're gonna honestly tell him?" Elisa smirked, "Yeah. Not like he wouldn't be able to deuce that without my help." Harley laughed, "I've got more respect for you, kid."

Elisa smiled and grabbed the undergarments from the pile, "Get up and let's get you dressed."

Fifteen minutes later Harley and Elisa were walking from the bathroom. Harley sighed, "Unbound, clean, and wearing new clothes." She smiled and stared down at her old boots. "You keep the rest of the get-up, I can re-make it."

Elisa was about to ask why she would do something like that, when there came a snort from behind them.

"You know, I think the Riddler's gonna love to see this. His Enigma and the hostage chatting like buddies. You weren't planning on setting her free, were ya, Boss-lady?"

"I believe what I do and don't," Elisa hissed, "is none of your damn business Hollander, unless you'd like to be punished for your assumptions."

Hollander raised his hands, "You want to let her free, you go right ahead, but I think I need something to seal my mouth." He grinned ferally. "I think you should give me something in return."

Harley glanced sidelong at Elisa, "Kill him," she whispered and nodded. Elisa returned the gesture and took a step forward. "What do you want Hollander? I don't have a lot of time."

"Well, I think I'm being a gentlemen here, and you should know how to properly appreciate someone such as myself. All I'm asking is for a little release if you catch my drift. You're not unattractive."

Mentally both women resisted the urge to scrunch up their noses at his clear meaning. Harley shook her head. Even if Elisa wasn't as strong as herself, this frost-bitten wolf thought he could overpower his sire's alpha female, did he? Oh, how amusing.

Elisa stared down at the ground. Hollander sighed. "I'll try and be gentle, that is, if you're pliant and don't fight." He took a step then another towards her. Elisa took a step back, but stopped, seemingly resigned to her fate.

The man grinned. Harley shook her head—lustful bastard, he was making her stomach churn. He touched her shoulder and then lifted her chin. That's when Harley giggled, insanely.

The man looked over Elisa's shoulder at Harley, feeling a chill down his back as he remembered her cackling from earlier. Because of his momentary distraction, before he knew it he was on the ground. Elisa had pulled a gun from her pocket and held it up to his chest. He froze.

"Does this turn you on, Hollander? How does it feel to be dominated? Have you not heard what happened to the last guy that made a pass at me? Hm," Elisa grinned maliciously. "Too bad you can't think with the right head." She pulled the trigger and Harley's laughter rang through the house as he slumped to the floor, blood butterflying across his chest.

"Why can't ya just do that to Edward?" Harley voiced through her mirth. Elisa's shoulder's fell, "Ah, it's more complicated than that." She placed the gun in her pocket and clapped her hands. "There," she smiled and turned to Harley. She led the way down the hall and opened the door. The shorter woman came to stare out and just as Elisa walked out she fell to the ground. Harley had tripped her. She gasped as the woman towered over her and placed one of her booted-feet on her chest.

"I thank you for the treatment, that's why I'm not gonna kill ya," Harley crooned, "but don't ever underestimate my intelligence again. I really wish you would have set me free long before now, but I thank you for allowing me see the ultimate truth. So goodnight, Enigma. Harley Quinn's come to play with bombs dropping…Soon, the Riddler will see what he's awakened and what you let off the leash, and you're going to give him that message."

She brought her other foot down and brutally kicked Elisa, the woman's head knocking into the door frame. The blow knocked her out instantly.

Harley stared down at her a moment, before she shook her head. That's when something close to her caught the street light. She pivoted and found a small, sleek blue cell phone. She smirked, picked it up and put it in the pocket of her fresh jeans; and turned around, beginning to walk down the street. She raised her eyes to stare at any passing sign to try and assess where she was. She frowned; she had nothing.

Her chest was aching, but she had to keep going. She was out of immediate danger and thus the adrenaline high that had buzzed her from her awakening to now was ebbing away. Her wrists were hurting, but the most immediate agony still hummed from the site of her cracked ribs. She wanted to be careful, but she couldn't dawdle. She needed to get out of the neighborhood before the Riddler returned. She prayed she was walking away from the danger and not towards it.

She needed to get to a hospital. There could be no way of knowing whether she was bleeding internally or how much she could move before her ribs might snap and puncture something like a lung. The streets however were deathly quiet, she saw no cars for the time being.

She licked her lips; she had lived through the pain. She was too close to stop now. She had to survive. She should have asked Elisa which way to go before she knocked her head into the flat she had come from. Oh well; too late for that now. She stared down at her feet, then, up at the sky. She wondered what time it was. Harley was trying to think of anything else to ignore the pain that seemed to intensify with every step she took. Wasn't Gotham suppose to be a bustling city? Where the hell were taxis?! There was no way she was an abandoned part of town—she could see the cars lined up on the sides of the roads. Was she on the wrong side of town? Where were the muggers? The rapists?

She was driven from her thoughts at the sound of a car turning onto her street. She'd take her chances. She ran into the road and stood immobile as the headlights got closer and closer. She merely stared up impassively at it. It was mere feet away when it screeched to a stop. Harley took a deep breath as she prepared herself for both the best and worst. The door opened and a man stepped from the vehicle. She felt her eyes water and her chest release a dry sob.

In the low moonlight his hair, which hung in strings around his face glowed a ghastly green. He stared up at her from a ghostly-white face. He chewed on his cheek and began walking towards her, frowning although he had a painted, crimson smile.

"The hell—Harley! You could have been killed!"

His eyes shone darkly, appearing almost black in complement to his Kohl-ringed sockets. Harley merely blinked at him, beginning to walk towards him as well.

"You think you can take me to a hospital?" She asked once she had gotten close enough to see him clearly. It was the Joker, it was really him. Her eyes shined in happiness.

He stared at her, seeing her busted lip, the gash on her forehead. She was also cradling her side. Her face was pained. What had the bastard done to her? He didn't ask. He nodded to her, "I _**can**_."

She smiled, "Thanks. Could you open the door for me too? My, uh, wrists are broken." She had begun to walk towards the car he was driving. The pain was beginning to make her feel loopy, she didn't even register that the tone the used. He had meant it to sound thoughtful as if he was really considering it—of course he'd take her to the hospital! He was surprised she didn't rise to it and walked back to the car.

Once he was back in the car with Harley buckled in the passenger seat, he started the vehicle and sped down the road, back the way she had come. When they passed by the Riddler's house, Harley grinned, but didn't look out.

The Joker remained silent. Unsure what he should say to her. He had never been in a situation where he wanted to just hold someone to him in comfort. There was a warmth radiating in his chest. Happiness, relief, and something so complicated, he couldn't explain it clearly. He had always been one to follow his instinct, but it was telling him to do so many things. He wanted to kiss her, hug her, and cry all at the same time—and all of the above would have been difficult to do while driving.

He glanced at her; she was reclining in the seat, the pain still on her face. The Riddler would pay. He knew where she had gotten every wound from. His anger was mounting so high that he couldn't speak, but within minutes he pulled up to the front of Highland Memorial Hospital. He leaned over and pushed open the door for her, preceding to unbuckle her afterwards.

She gave him a dazzling smile and jumped out. He watched her enter the hospital before driving off, back to his hideout. She was safe, his beautiful Harley was safe and breathing. He sighed, a light feeling fluttering in his chest alongside the warmth. He turned to stare as he entered an intersection and that's when he saw the dark, blue phone in the seat. It didn't look like Harley's—he'd seen hers enough to know. His curiosity was now piqued.

He reached over and grabbed it. Upon its face in the dim and passing street lamps he saw the message: "One Missed Call". He opened it, only to find it locked with a password. It wouldn't stop him.

He pulled over for a moment into a dark alley and fumbled with the phone.

First he tried all most common codes. 1234, 4567, etc. Only after those didn't work did he try more complex ones. 147* and so on until he punched in the code: 369#. The phone gave a ding and he grinned; jackpot.

He checked the message, holding it up to his ear.

"My sweet Enigma," the voice spat and the Joker grinned; he knew who this was.

"You've not been answering your phone. You better not be asleep...I'm coming over there and you better have a damn good excuse for ignoring your phone." It was the Riddler and this was his little bunny's phone. Oh, the fun. He pulled out of the alley and continued on his way. He was gonna make a certain phone call once he was home again.

* * *

The digital clock relied the hour in bright, red numbers.

_3:18 AM._

Bruce lie on his side, eyes open and unseeing. He stared at the far wall, his body stiff. His thoughts were all self-degrading. He couldn't stop the regret, the worry. From behind him he heard a soft sigh and the bed shifted. He closed his eyes, but he felt a soft hand touch his shoulder.

"I know you're still awake, Bruce."

Selina's warm breath passed his ear and he shivered. Her lips kissed the side of his exposed temple. "You're brooding, aren't you?"

"I missed my chance to save her. Who knows what that bastard's doing to her now?" He whispered, opening his eyes to the dark room. "It wasn't your fault, you tried. What matters is that you'll find her, I know it. I'm going out with you next time. Thomas is old enough to be alright with just Alfred. Besides, I can't stay a normal housewife, you know that. We'll find her."

Bruce turned over and stared up at his wife, "She's fragile, Selina. She's got a sharp wit and a sharp tongue, and a stalwart attitude, but this case has been pushing her. She's becoming someone other than herself...If she isn't saved soon she's going to lose her sanity, if that moment hasn't come already."

Selina smiled softly, and her hands cupped Bruce's cheeks, "Even if she has, we can face it, Bruce, I have the utmost faith in my Batman." She leaned down and kissed him softly. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the gesture. He smiled, his nose brushing hers when he pulled away. "And I have the utmost faith in you, Kitty-cat."

She ran her fingers through his short hair, "Sleep, Bruce," she whispered. "The city's quiet for now...I know you're used to being nocturnal, but with the stakes being what are and the Joker loose, things are bound to be crazy soon. I've heard and read enough about both criminals to know Gotham's in for the most chaos it's ever seen. Was Edward Nashton's motive ever found by the way?"

Bruce closed his eyes and nodded, "Supposedly. It appears he used to be the guy in school that everyone teased. He thus decided to use his brain to gain power. He gained an ego and a few years back he proposed research into the human mind to my company and I in order to learn how to map it further. His goal was to store all the information of a single mind on a database. Not only would research in order to reach that goal take perhaps decades if not an entire century or more—which didn't bother me—but it would have been an invasion of privacy. Because of the dismissal he was a laughing stock for months, not that I wanted that and I did apologize. It appears, however, Edward holds grudges and is out to show all those who laughed at him his brain capacity. Egotistical, bipolar, and perhaps suffering from even more psychoses, he is certifiably insane, and a definite threat. He's right up the alley with Joker. He may have even been inspired by that trickster's crime spree. He's probably been planning his revenge for years now; slowly being consumed by anger until he just snapped."

Selina shook her head and snuggled closer beside Bruce, her head resting on his chest. His arms were still loosely wrapped around her. "And the poor girl he's shaped into his accomplice?"

"Elisa Rangers," Bruce asked, opening his eyes. At her nod he sighed, "She was just a simple secretary at his work. She must have-"

A knock came to his door.

"Master Bruce, Miss Selina," Alfred called, "I know you're both awake. I have received a message from Commissioner Gordon. Harleen Quinzel was just checked into Highland Memorial Hospital in North Gotham."

Bruce smiled and Selina hugged him. "How did she escape?"

"She's claiming the Riddler's henchwoman set her free and she was able to hail a ride to the hospital. She's in stable condition and the doctor's are running tests and x-rays to see the extent of the damage."

"She's alright," Selina whispered to him, "everything's gonna be alright. Now we just have to find where she was being held and storm it."

Bruce stiffened then, "It won't be that simple, you know that. The Riddler's smart. He'll find out and he'll get rid of all the evidence, but you're right. It'll be a start," he relaxed. "And that's all we can ask for." He held his wife close and kissed her lips chastely and then her forehead. Without the weight of Harleen being held against her will, he felt the effects of the stress. He was exhausted and the day was looking brighter already.

* * *

Okay, this was weird. Was this why she hadn't answered? What the hell?

Edward stood outside of the flat Harleen had just escaped from—he wasn't aware of that yet, however. He was standing, observing the prone figure of Elisa on the pavement. She had a scrape to her head, she was still breathing, but she was out like a light. He raised a brow and turned to stare at the doorway.

This was strange, unexpected, and a little annoying. He wondered how the hell she'd ended up out here and gained an uneasy feeling in his gut. He walked up to the door and pushed it open. It was unlocked—how convenient. It only took him about ten steps to find the next interesting find. Once again he was dumbfounded, and more angry. He clenched his fists and he stared down at Hollander who was now lying in a pool of his blood on the floor. He turned the man over with his foot and his assumptions were proven correct—one bullet wound to the chest.

He turned his head back towards the front door, where Elisa was still lying unconscious. He would be damn amazed if Harleen had done this. Harleen?! He took off to scale the stairs, but another oddity distracted him.

He had just reached the foot of the stairs when he turned his head to glare into the still lit bathroom that sat there. From within steam was flowing out, ghostly and light. Edward cautiously entered and took one look at the fogged up mirror and the discarded red and black clothes on the floor before growling lowly. He stomped over to the heap of cloth. These were Harleen's alright. Okay, so had Elisa given the bitch a bath, killed Hollander, and then got so drunk that she passed out in front of the house, hitting her head on the way down—that was just absurd—or had something far more treasonous happened? For her sake she'd have better not done what he was beginning to suspect. He left the bathroom and bolted up the stairs.

He loudly threw open the door to the abandoned storage room where he had held the woman. He screamed. She was gone! Her binds were uncoiled on the floor. There was no way the woman had unbound herself with broken wrists, bathed, shot Hollander, and then escaped after knocking Elisa out—well she could have knocked Elisa out, use of her wrists or not, but still! He bristled and with the calmness of a curled snake he left the room only to return minutes later dragging a chair in one hand with Elisa thrown over his shoulder.

He propped her in the chair and tied her wrists to the open sides and her ankles to the legs. Then he left again to bring another chair into the room. This one he placed across from the woman. He took a seat in it, and leaning with this elbows on his thighs watched Elisa; hell would come when she awoke. He would let her wake on her own; he intended to plan all the the fun things could do to her while he waited.

Thus an hour passed. Then she shifted, she groaned—had he had been in a better mood he may have thought it cute; _**may**_ being the key word there. Then she halted all movement and her body became ram-rod still. Her eyes fluttered open. She glanced at her sides where her hands were tied. She attempted to wiggle her legs. When Edward finally caught her gaze with his own, his lips pulled into a wolfish grin.

"Good morning, Elisa."

And it was morning; the sun was just beginning to rise and the sky was fading from midnight blue to purple. Her eyes widened; yes she knew this was a bad sign. He tilted his head. "I'm sorry for your predicament," he didn't sound apologetic in the least, "but you see, we have a slight problem. It's like this, my honey bun, Dr. Quinzel seems to be gone. Her binds are just lying in the floor, her clothes are lying in the bathroom, Hollander's dead, and you were unconscious on the side-walk. This all looks very suspicious. Do you happen know anything about these events, hm?"

His tone of voice left no room for denial. He knew very well what she had done. He expected some rushed, frantic answer, but his Enigma's eyes went cold.

"I let her go," she said simply. Edward shifted his gaze and then brought it back to her. "You let her go?" His whole body went stiff. His eyes burned into her. She gasped when he leaped up. He was too angry to speak for a moment. He had only felt this amount of fury a few times in his life. His throat burned, his ears rang, his heart thudded in his chest.

"YOU LET HER GO?!" He kicked her chair over and she yelped as the impact crushed her fingers and jarred her back. She wasn't given time to recover, however. He grabbed the front of her blue blouse and pulled her cruelly upwards until she felt her arms were close to breaking from the strain against the ties. She clenched her teeth. "Tell me, you little bitch, how such an idiotic idea popped into your head. Did Harleen convince you to do it, huh? DID SHE?! Because I think her repayment was excellent. She knocked you out." He laughed heartlessly and dropped her back into the overturned chair. She hit her head rather sharply, hissing. Edward towered over her, but once the pain had passed she was back to her guarded glare.

"She never told me anything. I did this myself."

"And thus she chose to show her appreciation for your deed by leaving you in the most defenseless way possible," the Riddler laughed, though his anger was only growing. So she had thought it all up herself? "Well, she didn't kill me."

"And you think that was a mercy?" He brought his face close to hers, his voice dark with amusement. "I would say she knew I would do that job myself, slowly, so you can regret every moment of your life."

"Do your worst. I'm not ashamed of betraying you. I'm sick of you controlling me! I hate being your Enigma. I never asked for this. Why should I be punished when my only sin was seeing a man that didn't exist?!"

He snarled, "Do my worse?!" He stood straight and cackled before his foot sat atop her leg. He pressed a little against it then brought it up and stomped with all his strength.

She screamed shrilly, her back arching as the resistance of the chair against his foot snapped the wood and her tibia and fibula. The two bones burst from her leg, bleeding profusely. He raised his hands to his mouth, hiding his smirk. "Any regrets now, Elisa? Huh?! Now, maybe you'll second guess escaping yourself." She was crying and still screaming her body struggling in the pain. "You have no choice but to be controlled. You just ask for it. You're the kinda girl that's just better that way. I love controlling you, because your tears, your pain is so beautiful and addictive. You should have known better than to have ever caught my eye, you pretty little thing." He raised his foot again. "You should also know better than to incense me, but you just don't stop with your little rebellions, although this is the worst you've ever done. How much punishment can you go through?" He rested his foot against her other leg. She shook her head. "NO! Please!"

"What was that?!" He screamed. She shook her head, still crying and whimpering. "No? Oh but you really did yourself in this time...You really need to feel all the pain. I'm going to give you everything else I had for Harleen since you so nicely volunteered by setting her free. I'm not going to kill you; you're no good to me dead. Yes, you're just a tool. A pretty little doll. Both my white queen and nothing but a pawn to be used as I see fit. Now take your punishment, and do not EVER tell me what to do!" He tentatively pressed into her leg again. He then repeated the process, slamming his foot down, but a buzzing at his side caused his leg to miss its target.

He stumbled forward, Elisa sighed shakily, and Edward dug his phone from his pocket. He didn't even attempt to look at the caller I.D. "What?!" He screamed.

"Well, ouch," a teasing voice chuckled.

Edward's brows furrowed. "Who is this?"

"You mean, even you, the intelligent Riddler can't figure out who I am, now c'mon..." He trailed off and Edward's skin crawled, "Joker?" The laugh on the other end confirmed it. "You _**are **_sharp. Now listen I only called because, you see, I'm a selfish man, and I don't take well to other people damaging my property. You messed with _my _Harley, Eddy. You broke her wrists and bruised her ribs. And you, a man such as yourself, must understand the reparations of your choices. A man doesn't go into another's house and just start tearing up his things for the hell of it. You see," Edward heard the Joker lick his lips. He glanced at Elisa who was still whimpering at every little movement or shift in her leg. He stalked out of the room.

The Joker continued, "there's an understood 'keep your hands to yourself' policy. You just can't break what isn't yours and if you do, you must be prepared to pay the price. You, boy, you just ruined a pricey porcelain doll of mine."

Riddler should have been scared, but he was foolish—at least those that would come to know this tale would believe so. He was so full of his own superiority that he laughed, "Says the man who doesn't follow that advice himself."

"Of course," the Joker admitted, "but I'm not you, I don't follow this norm that you still cling to, and even if I did, I would say that I, unlike you, am aware of the consequences. I take actions accordingly; I can handle them, but I don't think you can. You see, Eddy, what if I took your little Enigma and gave her a beautiful make-over _**my**_ style?" The silence on the line answered the question for him. "See, you understand. No one else can harm them, right? Perhaps I should better phrase my earlier declaration. A man doesn't come into _**my**_ territory and and just start tearing up _**my**_ possessions and damaging _**my**_ property. I told you; I'm selfish, and those that mess with me must be prepared to be punished for their boldness. You've been pretty bold and you took an unwise move. At least my hits are intelligent. You're petty, she's your equal and you can't stand it! That's cold, even _**I**_ don't try to murder my equal. You're a poor sportsmen you know that?"

While the Joker laughed, making that statement, Edward pulled the phone away. He stared at the screen after pressing a button. His eyes widened at the name displayed. No wonder he wasn't able to reach her before.

_Elisa_.

"Whining, Riddler?"

"No, why do you have Elisa's phone?"

"Does the thought that I might be watching you right now make you uncomfortable? Maybe I stormed in there and took Harley myself and took this from her."

"You're lying," Edward accused him, but hesitation was clear in his voice. What if Elisa was lying? "Am I?" The Joker chuckled. The Riddler stuttered as he replied, his eyes glancing around him. He carefully walked into the room where Elisa was and peered out the curtain-less window. "You a-are."

"You don't seem so sure of yourself. Get used to that feeling, Riddler. You bruised the queen of my house of cards. Harley left this phone with me by accident." Edward inhaled sharply. The Joker snickered. "I don't know where are you, but I will find out, don't think I won't."

"You say I'm the fool here, but I beg to differ. What man admits such a deep connection with a girl? That is just a call for trouble there."

"You don't know me at all. I love trouble. I enjoy a man thinking he can out source me. I have more connections than you; I could find you with a just a few calls, some explosions, and a couple of frightened thugs. Far more fear me. Who do you think has the balls to touch _**my**_ girl? In a battle between you and I, you really think you'd win? You're a schemer, the kind of guy I love destroying; it doesn't matter that your actions are meant to cause chaos and fear and that you're illegal. You're an amateur compared to me. Like I said, I do enjoy challenges, but I would hope you would know better than to target Harley again; that'll not end well for you. You're already in trouble with me."

Edward felt his anger building. Elisa had sentenced him to this. Now he was a target of the Joker's. He growled.

"You sound like an obese bloodhound. Harley's growl is more potent than yours and its arousing besides." He laughed.

"Shut up, illusioned freak!" Edward screeched. "Come and get me. I happen to believe Harley was the best little doll I've ever gotten to break. You should have seen her face when Batman was too late to save her. I heard his screams when he realized she was gone. He had made it just a few seconds too late. I don't blame him. The riddle I gave him was the toughest yet. Her tears, her screams, the sounds of her breaking wrists, and the delicious sounds as her ribs cracked and her arm popped out of socket; every little sound I was able to treasure. I enjoyed every hour and minute of her shattering."

The Joker's voice was dark, devoid of all amusement. "Did you? Was she that fun? That just makes me imagine how much sweeter you'll be to break. My knives are feelin' a little neglected and who better than you to quench them? Hmmm, I wonder how long it'll be until I find you? Well you enjoy yourself till then."

The line went dead with the Joker laughing, not in amusement, but fury. Edward threw the phone on the ground and rushed back into the room with Elisa. She raised her head, but within seconds she was whimpering. He was untying her binds. She bit her lip against the tide of pain his release of her leg brought.

He dragged her from the chair, ignoring her screams. He didn't speak to her. He laughed as he pressed mercilessly against her injured leg, until with a spurt of blood and a deafening shriek and crack, he had reset the bone.

"Ouch," he twittered. "Your little stunt has cost me more than you're aware. You let Harleen get to the Joker. He's coming. It's all your fault! YOUR FAULT!"

"You beat her! You broke her! You're the one to blame," she whispered. Edward was wrapping her leg with a handkerchief he had pulled from his pocket; he paused, just finishing when she spoke. He tilted his head. His controlled voice was chilling. "What did I tell you about talking back to me, Elisa? How many times I have given you this talk?" He shook his head. He stood up and grabbed her arms and drug her towards the fireplace in the room. She howled in both agony and fright. He threw her beside the mantle and pounced. He turned her over and with little trouble ripped her shirt open. He stared down at the creamy expanse of her back.

"Where should I put it," he whispered his hand gently tracing her spine. He stood up and Enigma refused to watch him as he placed a prod in the fire. He let it heat while Enigma cowered. "You let her go, the Joker found her, and now he's threatening my life. What does he see in that little bitch? I wonder what would happen if I could take him out. I'll show him that despite my fresh introduction to crime that the younger generation is more adapted to fight." He chuckled and leaned back beside Elisa. "So where should I brand you?" He craned his head. "Here," he kissed her shoulder, "here," he trailed down her back, "no...here..." he kissed her shoulder blade once again. His hands, which were protected from the prod by his gloves grabbed it and pulled the smoldering, red end out of the flames. He placed it against her skin.

She screamed as it traced her flesh. She could smell it burning. "STOP! Please! Stop...Oh God...stop," and he pressed it harder against her back. She screamed more, shrieks filling the room. But he wouldn't stop, even after he had finished branding her with a scarlet question mark and discarded the prod carelessly. He attacked her kicking and punching. To his amazement she fought back, but his earlier treatment had weakened her. He intensified his hits.

It was the first time he had ever beaten her to the point that she passed out. His chest was heaving and his laughter was high, in-human, and deranged. It could only last so long, though. He was soon picking up Elisa and carrying her from the room and placing her in the back of his van, in the floor. Then he returned to the house.

When he emerged again, the place was being engulfed by flames. Now nothing would be found. Of course the police, the Joker, and Batman would know that that had been his hide-out, but barely anything would be left. And he already knew where to go next.

The second floor collapsed as he pulled away, disappearing into the early morning, to make plans for what would come from him next.

* * *

Days and weeks ran together for her while she rested in the hospital. Her mind had calmed down in the time. Her new found boldness and vitality rested just beneath the surface, just awaiting to be called forth again.

Harley had been held in the hospital until she was recovered enough to be able to function again—and by that point she was suffering from cabin fever so much that as soon as Pam came to take her away she basically jumped from the bed and hugged her friend like an excited child that was told they were going to the zoo or fair. She had been delivered to a well-sized, fully stocked flat. It was a big change from her apartment.

Two-bedrooms, one bathroom, an impressive kitchen, and wide living room, the place was beautiful and perfect. It also had a study. The best thing was that all her possessions had been moved. She would be safe here. Pam had to come visit her often for a week until Harley insisted she get back to her own life, then it was just Harley and the empty flat. It was no more empty than her apartment, but something—no _**someone**_—was missing. She knew he had not been caught, but what was even more interesting was his silence. The Joker had been sighted, yes, but in the month it had taken for Harley to recover he had not blown up any buildings or caused any mass destruction.

Harley missed him, wanted to see him. He was free. She often felt her heart alight at that thought. Her life was empty without seeing him every day, but she tried to act normal, although Pam noticed. She had accepted Harley's explanation of still recovering from the trauma of her ordeal. She was set to receive counseling if her mood did not improve. She had never lied to Pam before, but what would the woman have said if Harley had told her the truth: she wanted to see and better yet make-out with a psychotic clown who was rumored to hold no empathy for anyone—that was love, though. Her wait would last three weeks after her release from the hospital.

She was carrying a bag of groceries when she opened her apartment door. She locked it back as she always did, balancing her paper bag on her hip, black braces visible on her wrists, they had yet to heal completely. She turned around and the first thing she saw was the bouquet of crimson and ivory roses that rested on the small table that sat just inside her kitchen. She blinked, placed her bag on the table, and touched the flowers softly.

She smiled and plucked the visible card from amongst them.

_Sorry I couldn't give this to ya in the hospital. Security was really strict around you, babe. I hope you're feeling better. I hope my spunky little doc isn't too frazzled. Where would the fun be in that? Who knows maybe I'll be seeing ya soon._

_Love,_

_Jack_

That made the grin wider. She placed it back in the bouquet, not perturbed that he had entered her house without her permission. She was curious, nonetheless, at just how he had managed to get in. With him, there was no telling.

She smelled the flowers. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she had felt this much joy, but at the same time, she was a little disheartened. She knew he wasn't still there. She shook her head, remembering the last part of his card and began to remove her groceries from her bag to put them away.

She hoped she would be seeing him soon; very soon.

* * *

**_I'm still alive. Sorry for the such the long wait. My beta went on vacation, I got busy with trying to keep my GPA in college, and life has just basically been in full-throttle for both my beta and I. Winter Break is coming up, however, and hopefully that will mean more on schedule updates. Thanks for the patience, and I hope this chapter was worth it._**

**_-Amber_**


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

"_**Love is not rational, true friendship knows no bounds, and the clock ticks. Gains and losses would mar the spreading of my wings, but renewal is never easy and I really didn't lose anything despite the pain. Life, love, pleasure, pain, joy, sorrow. Carpe Diem."**_

* * *

In a city such as Gotham rain, like all forces of nature of course, wasn't absent, but it rarely ever served to be a cleansing agent. On muggy Summer days it made the stench of decaying garbage even more putrid. This night was no different. The day had been uncharacteristically warm for early December and thunder roared so loud it sounded like the sky would break apart at any moment. That image wasn't far from the reality of the night. Any curious eyes could stare up into the diluted darkness and see spindles of lightning streak from one cloud to another, certainly giving a visual of the heavens cleaving open. Just as often—to digress a bit—lightning, white-purple, would also strike the ground, an unfortunate tree, or perhaps even a transformer. The last was the misfortune of Hyacintha Climes, a recently developed suburb in East Gotham. The event left a fair number of houses without power, one of which being Harleen Quinzel's.

She, unlike many of her neighbors hadn't been flustered when around 8:30 the power had utterly been terminated. Of course the preceding explosion of the transformer had startled her slightly, moving her to investigate the noise which had screeched just as her lights had turned off. She wasn't irritated in the least; she found herself grinning as she witnessed the sparking container atop a telephone pole as she stood with a plethora of the disgruntled neighborhood who had also turned up to check out the reason for the power outage.

She took it in stride. She could empathize with the frustration of the other people, though. Gotham was a busy city, and business waited for no one and would hardly halt itself in the face of a storm. It was an accepted truth that neither nature or the real world really gave a damn about anything, which made for some perpetually grumpy tenants within their reality.

Harley chalked herself up as lucky that she had recently taken it upon herself to move from that world and simply join the elemental forces in their nonchalant and in-charge domain. She also considered herself lucky on a more practical level in that she had already eaten and cleaned up before the lights died and upon returning to the inside of her home, lit a few candles and by their flickering light took a shower before heading to bed early—one could always catch up on sleep. The rest of the neighborhood would follow suit, the suburban area going quiet earlier than usual as inhabitants turned in, some of them grumpily.

All were blissfully unaware of the visitor their humble, seemingly quaint street would get that night.

Midnight came, humid and putrid. Rain had started again to fall softly after only a brief hiatus. In the distance, drawing ever closer by the second, came the whisper of more thunder. Hyacintha Climes was silent, but within moments that serenity was broken by the splash and distorted crunch of wheels on wet pavement. Into the neighborhood came a dark station wagon with tinted windows, just like the majority of cars in Gotham. It came to stop right outside of Harley's and almost immediately the front passenger door swung open.

A masculine figure stepped outof the passenger side and into the steady downpour. With the vehicle's head and taillights being the only source of light on the darkened street, the man was unrecognizable. His tenor, however, was merry despite the rain. He almost skipped onto the sidewalk, whistling an unfamiliar, borderline discordant tune.

The thunder was even closer now and a bolt of lightning swam across the sky. This didn't observably rattle the man as he continued to waltz right up to Harley's porch. He merely reached into his coat pocket and in the next flash of lightning a single, silver key was reflected. His whistling floated back to the station wagon as he inserted it into the door and after a few moments, effortlessly turned the knob, opening the doorway into the entrance. Seemingly satisfied at his success he returned his attention back to the idling vehicle that had transported him. More thunder crashed, now louder than ever, and in the following lightning it lit up the scene. The flash illuminated the once unknown man's features; wavy, hair tinged in green and a gruesomely elongated smile: the Joker.

He waved his hand and without pause, the engine revved and it sped off. Only after the sound of the thrumming pistons and tires were far off did the Joker turn his back to the night and enter the quiet house.

Harley was no where to be seen as he bypassed the living room and adjoining kitchen, favoring instead to travel down a small hallway that separated the two. He thought he knew where Harley was; her car had been in the driveway so there was little chance that she was gone. His destination was the first door to his left. He peered into the open doorway and his first response was to grin in victory; she was asleep on her bed. The reaction that won over his mind, however was to stare into the room wide-eyed. She was facing away from him, calmly in the throes of slumber—that wasn't the cause of the reaction. It was her choice of sleepwear.

Her white tank top would have been modest had she been wearing pants. That was the fact that halted him a moment. His tongue darted out to wet the inseam of his lips at the display before him. Harley was clad in a shirt and nothing more than a pair of powder blue panties, which fit the natural form of her derrière perfectly. It was a view he thoroughly enjoyed thanks the rumpled blankets at the foot of the bed and her shirt that had ridden up just enough. He grinned lecherously. The night was looking up already.

The Joker's eyes trailed down the swell of her hips to gander unabashedly at the expanse of her toned legs before making a return trip. It wasn't everyday a man was afforded such a tempting view and he was not one to pass up opportunity.

He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his gray blazer; it landed beside his just as carelessly disposed of footwear. His dark eyes focused on her mussed cornsilk hair and his dark jeans joined the pile of discarded clothing. If she could sleep in just a shirt and underwear then so could he. He quietly crossed the room in his emerald boxers and blue plaid shirt to climb into the downy bed.

He came to tower over her prone figure and he raised a hand to her head, balancing on the other with his weight. He tucked some of her sleep-matted hair behind her ear. She looked so peaceful; he almost felt bad for what he was about to do. Almost. He craned his head and stared down neckline of her tank top. He frowned quickly; nothing, he couldn't see anything: no breasts, not even a subtle hint of cleavage! However, that could be easily fixed, and he grinned wolfishly as his free hand curled around her collar and gently pulled it away from her body. In doing this he was made to redistribute his weight, leaning further over, making his forearm press against her back, causing the cloth there to ride up even more. His arm brushed against the naked skin of her back and he pulled back when he felt a raised patch of skin brush against his own. He hadn't gotten his peek, but that no longer mattered as he bowed his head and scrutinized her back.

Deep and spindly, he saw the curve of a scar that continued beneath her shirt, above her tattoo. His eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled into an even more noticeable frown than before. He carefully raised her shirt until he saw enough to understand the design that had been carved in her back with the most painful accuracy. Four spiraling question marks covered her upper back, all centering around an oval which was massive in comparison. It appeared the skin had been peeled off by the make of the scar. The Joker chewed his cheek in remembrance of his own marks. So the Riddler had done this? The Riddler had carved up his queen?

The words of the guard he had pushed out of the van during his escape from Arkham replayed. The Riddler had carved her up _**somethin' fierce**_. The Joker growled lowly and his hand began to trace the question marks.

That man had no respect for property, and he had been warned about someone vandalizing his possessions. He had just practiced his art on the Joker's most valued gift. How dare the amateur think he was going to get away with this, but no, the Joker recalled seeing the news. He had brunt down the house he had been using for a hideout. If he had been scared, _**now**_ the stakes were even higher. The bastard had marked Harley his. People should know better than to attempt to stake claim on his things. He had a criminal, a kid in a candy shop who just couldn't stop stuffing his face with chocolate, to teach a lesson to. His eyes were dark as he was lost in his own thoughts. He didn't plan, but he knew the extent of pain he was going to put Edward Nashton through.

The Joker didn't notice Harley mumble and shift away from his probing hand. If he had, he would have smirked at the noise she gave in annoyance. He unconsciously followed her movements. Nobody messed with his queen. Nobody. His finger gently traced the curve of one of the marks when her body stiffened and she whipped around, trapping his hands beneath her back as she stared up into his face.

That pulled him from his thoughts and he stared down at her soberly. That look turned into a smirk and chuckle when she blinked a few times, screamed, and rolled off the bed. She hissed when she made impact with the floor, but recovered quickly. She bolted upright and glared at him over the edge of the bed.

"How'd you get in here?" Her shock had erased all traces of sleep from her voice.

The Joker remained grinning, "I'm half Mexican, babe, you can't _**keep**_ me out."

She stared at him unamused, "Are you really?"

"Well, no, I'm a fourth from my mom's side, but that portion still counts."

"How'd you get in here?" She repeated the question. "Do I have a window unlocked or something?" The Joker raised a brow, "I hope not, do you know the kind of crazy people that could sneak in here and see you in your _**conservative**_ PJ's?" The innocence in his voice made her roll her eyes. "I'm looking at a prime example of that, and he's newly escaped from Arkham no less. Do forgive me for sleeping like this. I wasn't expecting company at," her eyes strayed to the clock, "12:30 in the morning!"

"It's not that late." She sighed, "It's late enough. So how'd you really get in here and not only this time, but when you gave me the flowers." He grinned, "So you got those. Did you like them?" All parts of her wanted to tell him she had, but perhaps it was the last of her self-denial or maybe she just wanted to play hard to get. "How would you propose I enjoy such a gift from my former patient at Arkham?"

"You didn't complain when I drove you to the hospital." She started, and she felt guilty for her words. "You did do that," she whispered. "thanks. I'm not sure I wouldn't have fainted if you hadn't shown up when you did."

"I have a key," he answered after a moment, when nothing more was said. He didn't know what to say to her gratitude; you're welcome, it was nothing? He just couldn't, and somehow that was understood on her part. He didn't have to say those words; Harley knew.

"You have a key to my house?"

"I'm the one that found and suggested it to Gordon's man." Harley blinked. "You choose my house? No, more important, the police guy gave you a copy of the key?!" The Joker glanced sideways at her, "He really wasn't in a position to refuse me, ya know."

She shook her head, "Is there anyone else I need to know about having my key? Do any of your henchmen have a copy?" The Joker paused and laughed, "They better not. If they did, I'd have to kill them."

"My prince charming!" She mocked. "Saving my dignity." She glared at him, "Speaking of which," she stood up, "what were doing earlier when I woke up?"

His eyes scaled her scantily clad form, "What was the question again? You're distracting me, puddin'." She fumed and pulled her tank top down, "What the hell were you doing earlier?!"

His eyes found hers again, mirth quite obvious in his expression, "I was merely examining the new battle scars the Riddler gave ya." Her eyes widened a moment and she bit her lip, but then she shrugged. The Joker sat up and faced her more directly, "They, uh, don't bother you?" She stared down and one of her shoulder's raised and fell again, "They did at first, I mean that's _**his**_ signature. He was branding me his to proclaim victory of the game. The way I see it now, there is no alternative I would rather turn to, so I'm stuck with them. I have to see them differently so I view the scars as a trophy. I'm alive, I beat him ultimately. How do you view yours? Surely they stand as a symbol other than the trademark grin that gained you fame as The Joker."

"True," the Joker nodded, "I saw the rotten rind of life and I escaped from it, yes it changed me forever, but I was offered the truth. I witnessed the funny side of life. The ultimate irony and was left with a permanent grin." He clicked his tongue and offered a dazzling smile.

And Harley now saw it too. She didn't say anything to that, however. "Why aren't you wearing your make-up?" She asked, suddenly noticing the absence of it. The Joker raised a brow at her sudden change of subject, "It's raining for one. Uh, I didn't want it to smear and besides that would have startled you more. Then again, that might have been even better."

"The appearance of my former patient was a surprise all its own." She quipped.

"I told you I was coming, Harley." Once again she changed the subject, shaking her head, "So you saw my scars? Alright, you bastard, what were to doing to have discovered those?!"

His reply was a wolfish grin. It spoke volumes, "Pervert!" She crossed her arms, and then seeing that his eyes were focused on them, "My face is up here." He didn't correct himself, "And your boobs are right there, see I know anatomy too." He could only imagine the even more enraged expression—all an act. He gazed up her, now and saw her thinned mouth. "Hey, it's not my fault that you're standing there in almost nothing. I'm not one to pass up getting a gander at the true side of Harleen Quinzel. I approve, babe, I absolutely approve. And you want to know my favorite part? It's not your chest, although, I will definitely not lie; its wonderful too." There was silence in which she glared at him even more.

"No smart rejoinders? Okay, I'll tell you because obviously you're curious," he waggled his finger, "and don't ya try to deny it. My favorite part at this moment is your legs. I've never seen them so revealed before." He licked his lips, "Perfectly toned, and dainty feet. And such, a womanly set of hips." She felt a shiver of pleasure shoot down her spine at his voice, deep and lustful. Why did he tell her these things? She could probably suppose all the fantasies running through his head involving the part of her body he was praising. "And you know, if these lights were on I could enjoy this view even more."

"The power's out," came her awkward voice. The Joker chuckled, "Pity." He leaned slightly towards her side, his eyes giving nothing away, but Harley immediately knew he was up to something, but should she stop him? "Hey where are your clothes?" She had realized his undress as he shifted. "If you can sleep in just that, then I can lounge around in my boxers and shirt too, but the rest of my clothes are lying in a heap on your floor over there." He gestured back with his thumb. "Why don't you come back to bed, I don't bite."

"I highly doubt that."

The Joker chuckled, "I'm not leaving, and if you hadn't wanted to see me you would have called the cops the minute you got my flowers. Harley, I'm free, you're free. This denial can stop now."

She froze, mouth open at a loss. There was nothing she could say in defense, it was all right, every word. She longed to no longer deny it. After all that she had been through, she wanted to live. Hadn't she already walked the line, fallen off, and caught herself? The world had taken on a different tone to her and sitting before her, reaching out to her was a man who understood. Suddenly the reality of his appearance here hit her. He was here, in her bed, still flirting with her in his forward way. She felt light, and her vertigo was destroyed, but it wasn't unpleasant. It was-

She yelped as an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her forward onto the bed. She caught herself and rolled over, only to come face to face with the Joker in much the same way as she had that one time under the treatment table. Remembrance left her blank, without words. She could only stare at him and gasp as one of his warm hands lightly touched a leg, right below her knee. She watched mutely as his eyes fell from her face to focus on his hand as he moved it slowly up. The gaze was so intense, but she could tell he was relishing in the touch and so was she. She squeaked and jolted as a finger stroked the bend of her leg, beneath her knee. His eyes flickered to her and he smiled, repeating the action. She gave a squeal that turned into giggles at his merciless attack at one of her ticklish spots.

"Where else are you ticklish?" He mused with a dastardly curiosity. His hand swept up the rest of her leg, her hip, and he prodded her side, rewarded with another squeal. He grinned and licked his lips, both hands brought up to assault the sides. She struggled against him, laughing as she tried to escape. This was her torture? Tears were falling down her cheeks at her giggles and her chest burned.

"Stop...I...can't...breath!" She managed in-between laughs, and he did stop, breath just as ragged as hers. His eyes were hooded as he stared down at her, his hands coming to brace himself by both sides of her head. She felt him shift, one leg coming to rest in the space between hers. He inclined his head, his smile so genuine, making him look younger. She let go of all her refutation with one question.

"What took you so long, Jack?" She reached up and touched his cheek.

His smile fell away, but it was nothing to be alarmed of as he blinked, his face relaxing even more, eyes becoming dark. He kissed her palm before turning back to her. "Say my name again," he whispered, his nose coming to brush hers.

"Jack," she murmured and his lips brushed hers sweetly, before pulling away. A sound of disapproval vacated her throat before she could stop it. She no longer cared. Her hands grabbed his collar, and she smirked, "Now, Jack Napier, where do you think you're going?" She questioned playfully and inclined her head, teasing his lips with hers before pulling away nipping his bottom lip in the process, eyes shining.

He glared down at her playfully before diving on her lips with a growl. Her hands entangled in his hair as her lips pressed against his and parted automatically. His hands fisted in her pillow; both of their eyes were closed as he kissed her deeply. When they parted this time, there was only the sound of breathing. She didn't head-butt him this time, instead her fingers traced his scars, followed by her lips.

"Harley," his voice was gravelly, his eyes closed. Her kisses stopped and he turned and caught her mouth again. "You drive me crazy." He lied down at her side and she curled into him. He ran a hand up and down her hip, just staring at her for a moment. There were no words needed and she closed her eyes soon after. Before long, the Joker could make out her even breathing, announcing she had fallen asleep once again. His chest swelled and his hand raised to caress her cheek. She had fallen back into her dreams with him there. It felt good. He wrapped an arm around her and brought himself closer.

How long had it been since he had slept last? He wasn't tired, just relaxed. He peered over her head, feeling her light breath on his collar and stared into the curtains that covered her sliding, glass window. He heard the patter of rain, light thunder, and Harley's gentle breathing. He stared into her hair.

She was his, unabashedly his. Her denial had been fun, but this moment and what had happened before, it had been amazing. He only felt this way for her; he couldn't hurt her, couldn't stand to see her cry. Yet he was still him, unpredictable, but something about the girl in his arms calmed him, soothed the chaotic mess within.

He felt human, and guiltily he admitted he had always longed to feel that way. Life had done something right for a change. It had given him Harleen Quinzel, a little firecracker who had turned his life upside down and not the other way around. He ran his hand through her hair and closed his eyes.

So maybe he was a _**little**_ tired.

Hours later he groggily awoke. He felt warm skin beneath his fingers. He opened his eyes and in the darkness he saw Harley's head just below his. His hand was cradling her back, beneath her top. His other hand, rubbed at his face before his gaze came to the clock. It was 4 am. He removed his hand from her back and tilted her head gently towards him. She sighed and he ran his thumb across her plush bottom lip.

He had to leave before the sun came up, before he was seen. No, he didn't care for himself if he was spotted. He inclined his head and kissed her. He cared for her. She cooed and her lips pulled into a faint smile. He quickly kissed her cheek and pulled back. Quietly he got out of the bed and shuffled over to his clothes.

He glanced at her as he thread his arms through the sleeves. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, gray cellular phone. He opened it and dialed. He licked his lips as he waited.

"Lane, I'll be waiting at the entrance. Don't be late."

He shut the phone and sighed. He glanced around her room, and his eyes landed on it. A green notebook lie on a chair near the door. He grabbed it and in the dim light wrote a quick message in a pen he had in his pocket.

_As much as I would have loved to stay and cuddle with ya, babe, business calls, and I'm not sure you'd be happy for the attention I would have brought, leaving your house any later. I'll be back, though, you can count on it; same time, tonight if you want. You want me, you call. I'll put my number at the bottom, if you can't reach me immediately just wait a little and I'll call ya back. I swear. I hope to be hearing from ya soon, pudding._

_Love,_

_Jack_

He tore it from its place and just as he was about to place it on the empty pillow he had once occupied, he paused. He glanced at her and then the note. He fished a purple crayon from his pocket, and using the nightstand on his side to bear on wrote a large, final message.

_I love you._

He folded the paper and placed it on the pillow. He took one last, wistful look at Harley's form before leaving the house, much the same way he had come.

Four hours later Harley groaned as the sun, infiltrated her eyelids. She turned over and snuggled into the pillow that still smelled like the Joker, or as she called him, Jack. Something crinkled against her face. She grunted and opened her eyes to find herself utterly alone.

She sprang up in bed, away from the scent of gasoline, smoke, and some scent that could only be described as male. For a moment she just stared around blearily before her gaze found the piece of paper. She grabbed it and unfolded it, her eyes quickly reading it.

By the end of it she was laughing. A warmth bubbled up in her, chasing away the disappointment she had had when she first began reading the letter. She refolded it and placed it in her drawer. She stood and up and stretched, laughing randomly as she took a shower and got ready to have a day out. She felt renewed and refreshed. She felt like shopping; she'd have to call Pam later.

* * *

"You're remaking that Halloween Costume?"

Harley ran a hand along a bolt of crimson fabric, silk. It was perfect to line the inside of the small black blazer she would be sewing with the other bolt of fabric in her arm. She measured it out generously.

"Yeah, c'mon, Red, that was the best thing I ever made."

Pam watched her as she expertly cut the fabric, stuffing into her bag. She was moving onto the denim material, ivory because she would dye it red, and then to the black denim. She measured them out. Pamela had been confused.

"Harley, wouldn't it bring back bad memories? You were kidnapped in that get up." She reasoned. Something was wrong; she was happy because Harley seemed filled with life again, but the resurrection of the costume she had been wearing when the Riddler had abducted her threw her.

"I need closure. I can't be afraid of that man for the rest of my life." Harley reasoned, eyes hard as she glared at the fabric dyes, searching for the correct hue of scarlet. Pam touched her shoulder. "But that doesn't mean you have to remake this costume. No one is asking you to get over your fear. You've already beaten him by not cooping yourself in your house all day. Harley, you can talk to me, you know that. I'll not ask what you're doing with this, but I hope you can tell me someday."

Pamela perhaps didn't know the details, but she knew enough. It had to do with the Joker, something told her that. Her behavior before, her behavior now. It flickered in her eyes, across her mouth. The Joker, it was about him. She wasn't incompetent, and somehow she knew that Harley was aware that she knew the truth. Neither of them said anything, at that moment.

"I know," Harley nodded, "and someday I hope I can find the words to tell you."

"_**Are you in love with the Joker?"**_

"_**What would you say if I told you I'm in love with the Joker?"**_

The unspoken words hung heavy in the air as Harley skittered towards the black fabrics. "I think," she mused, "I want to line the red tank top I wear under the jacket with black. It'll make the diamonds flow better into the cloth."

Pam nodded, "You know when you said you wanted to shop, I thought you meant at the mall." She was rewarded with Harley's laughter as she followed the petite woman. Pam smiled to herself. She shouldn't be comfortable with it—somewhere within her she wasn't—but if he was making her happy, then what could Pam do. She knew she couldn't blame her.

The Joker and her were now the same. Pam saw it. Harley had always embodied a jester, mischievous, cunning, and manipulative. Now, though, now, the jester had fully emerged. The world had turned its back on Harleen Quinzel. Harley Quinn had no choice but to emerge from the ashes. Just as long as the Joker didn't harm her.

Pamela had missed her smile. She wouldn't claim to understand it, how Jack Napier, the man known as the Joker could make Harley sane again. Sane and yet at the same time, insane.

"We'll go to mall, I'm thinking about buying me some new clothes. I need some new pjs." Harley glanced back at her. "What do you need?"

"Nothing," Pam smiled. "So tell me, what prompted this outing? You're in a sunny mood."

"I realized I couldn't be depressed anymore. I have life still, I'm breathing, there are better things in this world. The Riddler will be caught, especially now that Edward Nashton has revealed himself."

"And do you know the motive?"

"Mm-hm," Harley nodded, fingering a fabric. Pam stepped forward and touched it. "Light, not constricting. I think it's perfect for the lining." Harley pulled some out, beginning to measure. Pam leaned back, staring around at the vast array of material around them. All she could think about was the report done on the Joker that had aired recently in the wake of his escape and yet absent chaos.

'Clothing is custom...Is _she_ why he hasn't caused chaos since his escape? Has he seen her? Is that why she's happy? Why don't I care if my best friend is entertaining him? Because he protects her.'

The image of two playing cards entered her mind. A black and red joker. The two Harlequins, never balanced unless together. Both jesters of chaos and fire. She watched Harley and blinked. She had a feeling a part of her life was ending. Harley was still her best friend, would always be, but something about her own calm attitude when thinking of the path her friend was taking scared her. The air in was Gotham was becoming stifling, she needed a break.

Dr. Jason Woodrue from an acclaimed university upstate had phoned her with an opportunity to explore the Crane Fear Toxin. He wanted to strengthen it in light that it was a powerful possible biological weapon. She was Botanical Chemist, her expertise would be appreciated. She could leave Gotham, leave the air that was becoming its own brand of toxin.

She had a month, but she knew she was going. She didn't know how to tell Harley. The girl would be safe, though, as long as the Joker continued to love her. Pam, didn't know why, but she doubted that she had to worry. Somehow, beyond science, the girl had entangled that man in her web.

No one ever said love was rational, though. It also wasn't scientific and Pam had long ago discovered that.

* * *

Harley sat at her small dining room table waiting for the water to boil. She fingered her phone and with a sigh, dialed the number. The stove top clock announced to her that it was nine in the evening.

It rang, and with each successive ring her heart beat faster and faster. Then she almost felt her breath leave her when a voice answered.

"Hello?" The nasally voice of the Joker greeted her.

She could hear the giddiness in his voice. He didn't know it was her. She gulped. "You know, it's rude to just breath into the phone." He twittered. Harley licked her lips.

"You told me I could call."

His own breathing stopped. She heard a rustling, then, "Get out! I got some business to speak about! Out, out, out!" She cringed at the sound of a gunshot, but then his breath returned to fill the phone. "Harley?"

"No, this your conscious calling. I'm just wanting to let you know that I quit, I've had enough of your shit." The quip flew from her before she could stop it. Why was she calling him again? To hear his voice? There really was no motive, she wanted to call him, needed to.

"Well, I appreciate the call, but couldn't we have had this conversation easier in another way?"

"You and I both know, you never would have gotten it any other way." She was rewarded with chuckles. "Hi, puddin'." He purred and she knew he must have been alone, with no chance of being interrupted, at least his men had better not.

"Is this a bad time?" She asked. "You said, 'call me if you want me.'"

"What do you need?"

She pursed her lips. Should she? What could she lose? She grinned against the phone. "_**You**_. I need _**you**_, Jack." She said seductively and then flipped her phone shut. She was silent a moment, processing her action, and then she laughed. Oh lord, what had she done?! That caused her giggled more. She stood up and made her way to her stove. The water was boiling.

* * *

The Joker's feet fell from their propped position atop the desk he was currently seated at after she hang up. At first his expression was blank, but after a moment he shut the phone. He chewed on his cheek and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His eyes, pools of darkness against the kohl that ringed their sockets, came to rest on the phone.

He grinned savagely; the little tease! He stood up and grabbed his purple trench coat from the back of the chair and put it on. Depositing the phone in his pocket, he made his way to the door, leaving his messily construed desk behind. That woman had sealed her fate. He pushed it open and entered the hallway of his "base", an abandoned theater in the Narrows where madness was bred like a disease—who better to be its ruler than the Clown Prince of Crime?

He opened doors in the corridor, peering in as he inwardly mused. Harley, Harley, Harley. He fingered a knife in his pocket as he opened another door and grinned at the figure asleep on the dilapidated couch.

He bounded into the room and pounced on the man, smacking his cheeks until he opened his eyes, "Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty," he sang, "I need the keys...and I'm not in the mood to wait."

The man startled as he stared up at his boss perched above him, still pinching his cheeks. He released the painful grip and held out his hands, "So are you going to give me the keys?" He raised an eyebrow, "or am I gonna have to kiss you? Really, I'm flattered, but I, uh, don't hold those kind of," he cleared his throat, "_**feelings**_ towards you...so just give me the keys."

The man desperately dug into his jean pockets and held out the requested ring. The Joker grinned and pulled away. He swung the keyring around his finger as he quickly left the room. The man on the couch, fell back into its worn cushions. He knew better than to question his boss. He closed his eyes and attempted to go back to sleep.

It didn't take long for the Joker to be on the highway. He was still decked in his signature suit and greasepaint. He swerved across the lanes, arousing riled horns. He grinned; he had a woman to teach a lesson to, a very memorable lesson. He chuckled, nothing was more important. He sped towards the suburbs.

She had started something, she knew it. She was calling for him, teasing him, she knew he would come. He entered the suburbs at a breakneck speed, tires squealing. Oh, he was coming, and she was going to get a _**punishment**_.

Harley was aware he would be coming. How long, though, she wasn't sure. She knew she had lit a fuse, and her gut clenched at the impending explosion. She was stirring angel-hair pasta, her mind failing at keeping itself unaroused. Racing thoughts about when he would get there caused her pulse to quicken. Dinner, she had to focus, though. She put her attention back to the slowly softening pasta.

It was at that moment that she heard the screech as a car pulled into her driveway. Immediately she knew who it was, and when the car's horn blew in the melody of "Shave and a Haircut" she was even more sure. She picked up her phone from the counter and dialed his number.

"Who's there?" She asked simply when the phone picked up.

"Radio," he spoke. She could hear the car idling in the driveway.

"Radio who?"

He chuckled, "Radio or not," his voice grew husky, "here I come." She gasped, "Wait, I have an idea. How about you count to ten and then come find me?"

"No, no, you've had your fun. I'll count to three. One-"

"SHIT!" She scrambled and shut the phone and turned off the stove. She quickly looked around.

The Joker laughed at her scream, closing his phone. He shook his head and turned off the car, placing the phone back in his pocket. "Two..." He opened the door and stepped out. "Three." He shut the door and ran onto her porch. He twisted the knob, ecstatic that it was unlocked, and threw it open.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," he sang, entering.

He smelled cooking pasta, but as he entered the living room and peered into the kitchen he saw nothing. He glanced around and began walking down the hallway.

Harley heard her heart thudding in her ears. She wondered how the Joker couldn't have heard her almost hyperventilating in the nook between the refrigerator and the wall. She wasn't scared, no, adrenaline was coursing through her veins. She felt elated, playful. She heard him retreat down the hall, and sighed. Perhaps she would have time yet until he found her.

'Bastard,' she thought giddily, 'didn't give me enough time to hide correctly. My hair's all filled with dust now—who cleans beside the fridge? Maybe I can hide somewhere else now, on the chance that he stays occupied for a while.' She stealthily began to remove herself from the space, but that was ruined when she misstepped and the broom she also kept there fell with a sharp thud to the floor.

The Joker's head popped up from inspecting beneath her bed. He bounded over the mattress and ran to her door. That had come from the kitchen; he licked his lips.

'Shit!' She sped from the kitchen in time to see the Joker race from her doorway. He grinned ravenously at her before almost crouching like a predator about to take down his prey. She yelped playfully and ran back into the kitchen.

"C'mon, Harley," he peered into the kitchen through the bar. He saw her standing in the middle of the floor, like a deer caught in the headlights. Her face was flushed, he saw her pulse fluttering in her neck. He shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the floor, continuing to towards the entrance to the room. "I found you, now I think I deserve compensation for—"

Like lightning she had scaled the counter and sink and climbed through the opening. The Joker turned just as she impacted the ground and hit him on the shoulder, giggling.

"Tag, you're it."

His eyes darkened not in anger, but lust. He did love a spirited woman. "Bad decision for you, bad," and he took off after instantly. She squealed as she barely missed a swipe by his hands. "How come you were never this fast in Arkham, you little tease? You were so much easier to get...but, I do like this. It'll make capturing you all the _**more**_ enjoyable." He called to her as she careened into the bathroom. She shut the door in his face and he grabbed the handle just as it locked.

"Harley," he warned, but it was easy to tell his voice was only a mask of anger. She really was driving him crazy. He had never enjoyed a game of cat and mouse so much, well, with Batman, but for different reasons. With Batman it had been a test of thinking, wits. With Harley, it was chaos, instinct, freedom, fire.

"Na na na!" He heard her call, then the opening of the small window in the room. "You're still it, J!"

The door was simple enough. He took another knife from his pant's pocket and picked the lock expertly. He threw open the door and entered the bathroom, closing it behind him. He glanced around at the tub, encased by a shower curtain, at the open window, whose drapes were riding the breeze. He nimbly went to it and peered outside, eyes flickering for any sign of Harley.

He lowered his eyes, dark orbs coming to rest on the shower-curtain. That had all been show. The bathroom only looked empty. He slowly walked over to the curtain, anticipation making the moment sweeter. His fingers wrapped around the plastic-like material and with the sound of the curtain rings on the metal rod, he drew back the curtain.

He threw off his gloves as he peered at the woman trying to press herself into a corner of the tub. Her mussed blonde hair framed her still flushed face. She looked frightened, but her eyes were alight. The Joker climbed into the shower after her.

"Well, well," he shook his head, smiling. He grabbed her as she tried to escape. She was pressed back to chest against him. "I got ya," he whispered into her hair and with one of his arms firmly around her waist, used the other to maneuver her hair to her left shoulder. He pulled the shoulder of her blouse down and began planting kisses from her shoulder to her neck.

She leaned her head back, eyes closed, giving him more access to the column of her throat. He nipped at the sensitive flesh, earning approval in Harley's mewls. He tightened his grip around her, holding her even closer. She opened her eyes.

"You're still wearing your greasepaint." She commented seeing a glance of it out of the corner of her eyes. "Yeah?" He muttered against her neck, "Some temptress decided to rile me up. I didn't have time to take it off. I didn't want to keep you waiting." He felt her hands entangle in his hair. He took her ear into his mouth and suckled on it. She called his name and he whipped her around, pressing her against the wall, dark eyes drinking her in.

He couldn't stop the gasp, when her own mouth began to taste his throat. The paint that covered his face was bitter, she discovered, as she nibbled along his jaw. His hands were bunching into the back of her shirt. His breath was ragged. She didn't care, it was him, and that's all that mattered. She would let him be who he wished. She pulled away from his jaw and without hesitation bit into his neck, suckling on it as his eyes flew open. His hands dropped the hem of her shirt and grabbed the back of her thighs. He hauled her up and with one look at her bedroom eyes, savagely attacked her lips, tongue immediately running along their inseam.

He hungrily kissed her, her back pressed against the cold tile. It was a stark contrast against his warmth. She cried out as his teeth sunk in the junction of her neck and shoulder, leaving his own mark.

"Harley," he murmured and that's when someone knocked on the door. The Joker growled and Harley stiffened. He knew why she had to answer it and he reluctantly placed her down, but not before giving her a deep kiss. "Hurry back," he whispered and she nodded.

"Give me a minute!" She called as she stumbled out of the bathtub and then from the bathroom.

"I don't think the cab can wait that long."

Harley's head flew up. Pam? Cab? She ran from the bathroom. She threw open the door and stared up at the form of Pamela Isley, who stared in shock at her and her less than composed appearance.

The red-head turned to stare at the yellow taxi. "Keep that meter running, I'll pay you whatever it says." She then ushered Harley into the house and glanced around. Her eyes caught on the purple heap of cloth, and as she glanced at from the corner of her eyes she realized it was the Joker's coat.

"Alright I have three questions for you." Pam spoke.

"Yeah?" Harley asked and Pam smiled.

"You know what I'm going to ask, don't ya?" The Joker heard the conversation and lurked just out of sight. He knew the voice before he saw her, he remembered she was the red-head who had been held at Arkham with him. Harley nodded. "You're gonna ask whose car that is in the drive way."

"Bingo." Pam nodded seriously. "You're gonna ask, why I have smudges of greasepaint on my neck...but the third...I'm stumped."

"Do you have a new affinity for purple or is that the Joker's purple trench coat lying in a heap on your floor?" She raised a brow as Harley whipped around. 'Damn,' she had forgotten that was there.

"Ah ha, I knew it! So where is he? I know he's not gone and left the car."

Harley opened her mouth, but Pam shook her head, "I'm not here to reprimand you for it. I don't know what you see in him, but he makes you happy, even a mindless dolt could see that. I just want to speak to him civilly before I leave."

"Leave?" Harley had heard the rest of her words, but that one struck her instantly. Pam nodded soberly, "Yeah, I've been offered a job upstate with a chemical specialist, Dr. Jason Woodrue. I've decided to take the offer. Harley, Gotham, it's choking me. Too much has happened and I'm scared. I'm calm in the light of things that should have me incensed, like the fact that you and the Joker were making out before I got here, but I'm not angry. Concerned, but not angry, because somehow the two of you have entangled yourselves in a web, and...I...I just need to know one thing before I go."

"And what would that be, toots?" Pam raised her head as the Joker entered. She by passed Harley and came to stand in front of her. "What are your intentions with my best friend?"

The Joker chuckled softly then it grew louder, "You really are something else." Pam shook her head, "You better love her, you better protect her. If I find out you hurt her I will not hesitate to kill you. Unlike some people in this city, my sense of justice does involve killing. If I get the chance I'll do it. I don't care if I die attempting your murder. It's in your best interest if you don't lay an ill-meaning finger on her. You take care of her, or I swear you'll know why my friends sometimes call me Poison Ivy." She turned back to Harley. "If you two get caught and thrown in Arkham, call me, but don't expect me to break you two out. I'll keep in touch, and I'm sorry to spring this on you, but...I just figured out two hours ago I was leaving. I'm having a company pack all my stuff at my apartment and move it."

She walked to Harley and wrapped her arms around her, "You take care and keep yourself safe. I'm sorry I couldn't save you, but if he really means well towards you, I'll be happy for you. However," she glanced over Harley's shoulder, "You kill anyone I know or like and we may have a problem." She kissed Harley's cheek. "Chin up, Harleen, I'm just moving upstate and I'll always be your best friend. But I need to go, I feel if I stay here any longer I will become mad myself." She pulled back and nodded her head to the Joker, "Again, you take care of her."

And she turned away, opening the door. Her last words were spoken to herself.

"I don't wonder if I'm not just delaying the inevitable myself."

This year had scarred everyone, some physically, some emotionally, and some both. The door shut behind her and the Joker watched Harley run to her living room window. She watched as the taxi pulled away and left into the night. Then for awhile she didn't move. It was keen observation that made the Joker notice minutes later that her form was quivering.

He walked to her and guided her by the shoulders to face him. He sighed as he clearly saw the tears running down her cheeks. Her best friend had just left town. He whipped her cheek and she threw herself into his arms. He picked her up bridal style and carrying her to her room and kicking off his shoes climbed into her bed, still holding her. She buried her head into his chest and sobbed. He ran his fingers through her hair, soothing her as best as he could.

"Shhh," he whispered into her hair, wishing she wasn't shedding tears. It was only natural, however, he would endure it. He had never liked her pain, but he couldn't protect her from the world. He was already keenly aware of that.

He rubbed her back absent-mindedly even after she was asleep, the food on the stove long forgotten. He would stay as long as she needed him. Her world had taken another hit. He kissed her head.

His little harlequin was a resilient woman. Sharp and feeling; strong and warm. She was made of more than porcelain. His fingers traced the diamond design on her arm.

She truly was his Queen of Spades, opening herself up to injury and downfall and yet rising stronger despite her enemies because she was fighter. She was a winner, she was his partner, she was his world.

She was Harley Quinn.

The princess of chaos who had the potential to rule beside him had awakened. He hadn't ever wanted her to understand his life, but now he knew she too had embraced all her chaos. It was only a matter of time before she entered the public eye with him.

He hadn't wanted this for her. Another broken soul like his; he had wanted her to stay ignorant. Ignorance was bliss, but the flower had bloomed, and it would be a lie if he said she wasn't a beautiful ebony and crimson rose.

* * *

"_**Shave and a Haircut" is a pattern of knocking. Thanks to Kiss of the Breeze for discovering that. You really are a wonderful beta! Enjoy the chapter! And reviews are always welcome!**_


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"_**In an overwhelming sense, the word fear meant nothing to me; only a voice ushering me to prove myself, enter; the spotlight called. I followed it."**_

Steam wafted around the bathroom as Harley stepped from the shower and grabbed the canary towel she had placed on the shelf beside the bathtub. She sighed as the humid air stuck to her whilst she stepped across the tiled floor and opened the door. The cooler, hall air hit her immediately and she shivered slightly, quickening her steps to her room.

The door didn't make a sound when it opened, but Harley's gasp in the silent house was very audible. She almost dropped her towel as her eyes met those of the man on her bed, reclining comfortably. His eyes took in her figure carefully, a smile growing on his lips. She pursed hers.

"Jack, you could knock! You scared me to death!" She clutched her towel close to her chest, knuckles whitening as she held the material closed.

"You should have known I was coming," he answered simply. "Besides you were indisposed." Once again his eyes locked on the towel.

"You could have knocked on the bathroom door." He grinned and sat up, "You're lucky I didn't come in there." She smirked and walked over to her chest of drawers that was pressed against the wall next to her closet. "The door was unlocked you know. You had ample opportunity. Too bad, you didn't take the invitation and check, huh?"

He was silent for a moment. Harley used that time to gather her undergarments. "You can take another shower," he finally answered—she heard the pout in his voice; probably sore that he missed his chance. She was searching through her wardrobe by that point, moving things on their hangers. She clicked her tongue. "Actually I can't. One, I'm not running up my water bill; you had your chance and you missed it. Second," she pulled a plastic, opaque garment bag from the closet, "I don't have any time. I have somewhere to be in...about an hour."

While she had been speaking he had gotten up. She folded the bag over an arm just as his wrapped around her middle. She swatted his two roaming hands away playfully, "Now, now, what did I say about time?"

"You said you had an hour!"

"You're living with a woman now, best to understand that when it comes to fixing ourselves up, the customary ten minutes a guy spends on his appearance is stretched into a half hour or more with the fairer sex. It takes a lot of work for us to be as sexy as we are."

His eyes filled with suspicion at that, "And just where are you going that you have to be _**sexy**_?" He raised an eyebrow. Harley turned around. "It's personal," she stated softly, "you trust me don't you?" Her face was sincere, but the Joker frowned. "Why can't you tell me?"

"It's something I want to face myself."

He sighed at that but nodded. He wasn't happy that she refused to tell him exactly where she was going, but he accepted it. She never questioned what he did during the day; how many of his men he had killed. It didn't matter that he had popped back into the spotlight with heists, explosions, and his normal chaos again all filling the news and the front page of the paper. She didn't ask. He clasped his hands on her shoulders. "I trust you." When she looked up at his statement he kissed her quickly. "If you run into trouble, _**though**_, you call me, ya hear?" She nodded.

Satisfied with her answer he let her go. He followed her to the door and slapped her butt as she left the room, "I wanna see your sexy self before you go," he called after her half-indignant, half-playful squeal. She disappeared into the bathroom and he retreated to the living room.

He turned on the television and appeared to be content, but in all honestly he was flipping through channels with half attention, ears pricked intently. He heard the bathroom door close, then Harley's own. That was followed by some shuffling. He leaned back when he heard the dull hum of the dryer. He glanced at a clock she had placed atop the T.V.

Literally fifteen minutes later he heard the bedroom door open and shut once again and then her footsteps. He turned the television off and set his gaze on the hallway. His eyes widened just slightly at the woman who emerged into his view.

"So, I take it I look good?" She smiled demurely. He didn't vocalize an answer; he removed himself from the couch and came to stand before her. He ran a hand across her cheek, careful of her make-up. Light blush, a neutral lip shade, some eye-liner, and an enhancing smoky hue of eye shadow. Her hair fell naturally, not styled to her shoulders. He was looking at every detail of her face. He was slightly happy that he was without his paint as his hands fell to embrace her waist. The crimson material of her simply cut, baby-doll style dress rode up just slightly.

"I want to kiss you right now; I'd love to do other things which involve removing this dress, but-"

"I can reapply my lip shade."

She didn't have to say more. He kissed her softly, passionately. It was like the kiss after the date that proved the fact that the couple was into each other. It was the kiss that truly meant, _I'll call you and we'll set up the next date. _Yet Harley and him needed no such kiss, at least for those reasons. To Harley this kiss really meant he trusted her.

"I really wish it could be me taking you out." He commented in that voice that clearly revealed he had enjoyed the kiss after he had pulled back slowly. Harley reached up and kissed him desperately. He chuckled as he detached himself from her. "No, no, we can't ruin your make-up and remember, you have somewhere to be. You better get going...but remember-"

"Call you if I run into trouble."

He nodded and kissed her forehead quickly. "I'll be waiting for your call or for you come back."

She grabbed her keys and purse after that. She blew him a kiss as she left. He listened as her car started and then faded into the distance, then glanced into her kitchen and made his way there.

This was truly evidence of his confidence. His network was so far reaching, that were she to run into trouble he could have someone there for her within minutes. He had also seen her when she was determined and angry. She could handle herself rather well.

He grinned as he gazed into the refrigerator at left-overs. No one would mess with his firecracker vixen. Not only would he not accept that; neither would she.

The Iceberg Lounge; Pam had mentioned the Mob dealt business here. In all appearances it seemed like an average bar and club. It was, at least the front rooms were, anyway. Harley had only to flash her I.D. and she was allowed in. The music vibrated against the walls, a low hum. She reached into the small purse she wore over her shoulder and pulled out her phone.

"You all in position? You know the key word, right? Excellent." She smirked and flipped the phone shut, putting it back in her bag.

She made her way through the ramping dance floor, the bass vibrated both in and around her from the music. The young, the wistful, the lonely all gathered around her. Her mouth was set in determination; she knew her goal. When someone grabbed her by the waist, she turned with no expression and slapped him, smirking at the sound of his yelp. She didn't react any further, though, and simply continued on her way. Everyone was so lost in their own worlds and illusions hardly anyone saw the petite blonde assault the man, although one would not blame her rash actions after being man-handled. She disappeared like a crimson specter into the back of the room.

The guard, watching for any suspicious characters noticed her when she came into his view. The determination was still in her step as she walked up to him. She paused before him and awaited his acknowledgement. When she finally had it, she twiddled her fingers nervously and hunched her shoulders, giving the impression of a shy young woman.

"Is Mr. Maroni in?"

"And may I ask your business with him?"

She grinned inwardly; so he was in—that meant the rest of the mob was as well.

"I have a business proposition for him."

"Do ya sweet cheeks?"

Harley leaned forward conspiratorially, "Yeah, you see...I know he works with the Riddler. Mister, please let me see him. I'll pay you."

The man grinned, an action that Harley felt her stomach turn at. "When you put it that way, sure, sweetie. I mean, why not?" He leaned in the door and Harley heard him muttering for a moment before he gestured her to follow him. She gave a curt nod and walked in as he held the door open. Another guard took his place as he entered behind her. From the moment he settled in that position Harley grew extremely aware of a tension: hers. He gave her directions, but he should have been the one leading her.

Finally the reasoning for her apprehension was revealed—she wasn't surprised in the least at its discovery. He directed her into a room and when she opened it she found an empty lounge-like area. Her mouth pulled into a frown and she whipped around.

"Excuse me," her voice was tight, "but I don't think this is the right place."

"It's not, but I wanted my payment prior to meeting Mr. Maroni and his Organization. Surely you would know what a sprite little thing like you should pay to me for allowing you this. So why don't you make yourself comfortable over there on the couch and I'll turn up some music? I'll be very gentle. I know this is suppose to be my payment, but I'd feel bad you know?"

His voice was so superficial, but she followed his directions. She sat on the couch and leaned back. "Oh, sir...Can I request you take off your gun...they...make me nervous." She admitted, her voice colored in shame. "Sure, toots," he smiled, "less hassle anyway." He turned and walked over to the stereo system near the door.

Harley made sure he was occupied before she pulled up her dress and removed the handgun she had secured to a hoister on her inner thigh. She leaned back on the cushions after she smoothed out her dress and placed the hand holding the gun beneath the pillow she rested her head on. When the guard turned back around he gave her a disgustingly smug grin. She saw how his eyes drank in her body. It made her sick; it was nothing like the heated stares she earned from the Joker. He slowly stepped towards her.

"You know," she started casually as he leaned over her inviting form and she allowed him to tower above her, "when I said payment, I meant cash, not this. And you know what, I think you'd be better off taking the cash."

"Nervous you're not up to my standards? I love teaching pretty girls new tricks."

"Do you? I love teaching guys like you some too...like this one." And without hesitation she had the gun to his forehead, finger on the trigger. "Make a wrong move and I shoot you; it's simple. Back away slowly."

He had no weapon and she would shoot before he ever had a chance to retaliate. He raised up and held up his hands, but she followed. She slowly stood up and with the cold barrel still intimate with his temple she spoke. "Where is the mob meeting? And don't think I won't shoot you if you don't give me the answer. I have no qualms wandering around a little. So...I just asked the question. You want to live for now?"

"Two hallways down, second door to the right."

"How many lavish businessmen like himself, is Maroni fraternizing with now?"

"Twelve."

"Hmmm...lofty." She grinned. "Who works the closest with the Riddler?"

"A man named George Toronto." He gulped. Harley nodded. "I see...well thank you. Now if don't mind I must be on my way...Business, you understand. You should have taken the money, you know." Then she changed subjects abruptly, "Ah before I go, I should tell you: I'll only allow one person to ever stare at me and touch me the way you did and wanted to." She leaned forward. "The Joker, my puddin'."

He gasped and she pulled back. "But don't worry, he'll not punish you." She pulled the gun away and turned around and began walking away, arm swinging at her side. She made it to the door and pivoted back to him. She shot him in the head in the blink of an eye.

"Because I just did." She left the room and followed the path the man had described. Her footsteps were barely a whisper in the hallway as a result of the silver slippers encasing her feet. She made it unnoticed to the door behind which the mob met and stared up into the face of the man positioned there.

She handed him her gun without a word.

He nodded. He turned and opened the door. "Wait here a moment, boss." She smirked, but remained quiet. Minutes later he came back and she was led down a musky hallway that smelled of tobacco and smoke.

The room she walked into, occupied by a table filled with all the leaders of the Falcone crime family and other well-known characters of the Gotham Organized Crime syndicate, was surreal when remembering the interior of the rest of the club. It was wood-paneled and the maroon carpet offset the room nicely. It seemed to exude the atmosphere of what the mob wanted to portray: danger and cunning. Harley felt comfortable already.

"A girl? A girl wants to speak with us?" The amused voice of Salvatore Maroni cut the tense air that fallen upon her arrival.

"You mean you don't recognize me, Mr. Maroni? I suppose a businessman such as yourself is too busy to pay attention to the news unless it's your name. My name is Harleen Quinzel, gentlemen." She bowed as the guard left her with them.

"Quinzel? The doctor of the Joker?"

"The broad that was kidnapped by the Riddler?"

Harley nodded to both titles. "Both. And you bring up the reason I'm here. Is George Toronto in attendance?"

A stout man in front of her waved a hand. "May I help you?" He straightened his brown-rimmed glasses on his nose and stared up at her with sharp, gray eyes.

"Why yes, yes you can. Mr. Toronto, I am looking for information on the Riddler. I believe you can surmise my reasonings for such information. Actually, if any of you could help me, I'd really appreciate it."

"And were we," Maroni smirked, bringing Harley's attention back to him, "what would be in it for us?"

"I'll go ahead and admit it now, I don't have a lot of money...and even my entire fortune wouldn't be enough. But you see, he's annoying, a leech. You know all he's using you for is monetary backing and power. We both want to get rid of him for various reasons and I am willing to do it for no charge."

She wasn't surprised when the table erupted in raucous laughter. She was, after all, a new face. How could they know what she was capable of? She stood there and took it.

"You got spunk, lady, I'll give ya that," Maroni shook his head, "but what can you do that we can't?"

"You want a demonstration?" She shook her head. "I gave my gun to the guy outside. I came in here to be civil. What are you losing by telling me? He's making Gotham scared, yes, but the Joker did too. And he's greedy; he's gotten one taste of power and now he's wanting more. You know it, I know it."

"You're right, we do. And we've taken steps to account for that."

Harley laughed at the claim. She laughed hard. "And what are you going to do? Although you'll not hesitate to punish those who don't follow you, I wouldn't doubt many of them will join the Riddler; you'll not know it because you're all too busy sticking money up your asses to see."

"You," a large man replied, "have a big mouth, why don't you go put it to better use?"

Harley grinned, "And you're nothing but a lard ass who gives money to hookers just to satisfy your nastiness. Anyway...You wouldn't beat the Riddler. If you couldn't out think the Joker, then you can't out think the Riddler. He's probably got spies in here right now for him," Harley's eyes fell on George Toronto, "who knows, maybe even one of your own. But I can take care of him...I can out think him, and I'll do it for free, because I want my own vengeance."

"Proof."

Harley smirked, "But of course gentlemen, how unfortunate, though...but just so you all know, this isn't anything personal. Evans!"

Maroni jumped up, "That's my-"

The man came in followed by a group of other men and women, all toting guns of varying type and degree. They gathered behind Harley. There was enough of them that were the Mob to pull their own concealed pistols, Harley's men would have them out before any of could pull the trigger.

"Your guard, sorry, I took him. See if it was that easy for me to undermine your authority, just imagine how easily it'll be for him. So I'll ask again, info on the Riddler?" The room was very silent after that. "Don't worry they won't attack unless I tell them to. But you know, if you get any information, don't hesitate to call me. My lovely little Evans here will give you my number."

She pulled out her phone and dialed while Evan handed out a slip of paper with her number. "Sorry it isn't professional. But you understand, I was in a rush and all." She held the phone up to her ear as it began to ring.

The Joker was eating potato salad with a table spoon, watching some over-dramatized Spanish soap opera—he was laughing at it—and guzzling orange juice from the carton when his cell phone rang. He immediately set down everything and clawed the device from his pocket.

Harley's name flashed on the screen.

"Harley?"

"Can you come get me?"

Her voice was not desperate and that caused the Joker's heart to slow down. His interest was doubly piqued, though. Harley had taken her own car, what need did she have of him?

"Okay...where are you?"

"Back of the Iceberg Lounge." Now that made sense. So that's where she went. He could guess why she had gone there, but it seemed he was needed. Did she want to flaunt that she was his girl? He grinned at that, fine with him. She wanted some leverage, he'd give it to her.

"Be there in a minute, Harls."

He heard her say something around, "Oh, don't worry, they'll let him back here," before he hung up.

He was still wearing his signature purple and green ensemble. He raced out to his vehicle and before he knew it he was on the road, swerving into traffic lanes as he applied his make-up while driving, earning him some rather audible disapproval.

He was at the club within minutes.

"Evans, may I please have my gun back?"

He handed her the weapon and she stood, shifting her weight upon the carpet as she awaited the Joker. The silence was tense, but she acted as if she was bored.

"Your boyfriend," Maroni asked warily, "who is he?"

"Oh, you know, just a guy," Harley smiled, "don't worry you'll be meeting him here soon."

Ten minutes later the whole club went quiet; the vibration of the music against the wall was no longer audible. Harley grinned. "He's here." And they heard footfalls in the halls.

The door flew open and within seconds the Joker was walking into the scene, his eyebrows raised as he found Harley.

"Oh fuck!" A mob man cursed.

Maroni had fallen silent. The Joker merely grinned, shaking his head. He came to Harley's side and wrapped an arm around her slender waist.

"I see you met my Harley Quinn. A little snapper isn't she? Are you holding them hostage, sweetie?"

Harley shook head, "Actually, no," she shrugged, "they just wanted to know what I was capable of...so I showed them with my little team back there. Oh, and..." she turned her attention back to the mob. "You have a dead guard in the sitting area back that way. He got a little too bold for my tastes, decided money wasn't good enough for him to lead me back here. I had to take care of him for his own good, but I thought you might want to know. Well, I'll be off now, just remember to call me. I know you all have information, but I'll be a little forth-giving and allow you a little time to compose yourselves enough to reply. Tootles."

The Joker tipped his head at the men, "Glad to see you again, and I hope there's no hard feelings." He was there to watch her work and he was impressed. She had gone with appearing innocent only to turn the tables.

They began to turn right away.

"Wait, Ms. Quinn!"

She turned around. "Yes, Mr. Toronto?" She asked, now in her normal character.

"The Riddler, I, uh, haven't heard from him in a few days."

The Joker watched as her lips subtly twitched. Her eyebrows furrowed. "Is that so? Excuse me, J," she said to him and the Joker removed his arm. She walked right behind the mob-man The guards around them began to raise their guns, but she shook her head.

"You haven't heard from him in a few days? Something in your posture is telling me that that is not quite the case here. Mind repeating that and looking me in the eyes?" The man did so, but not without a noticeable twitch and Harley's first profession rushed to the foreground to call him on it. "Mr. Toronto, now, yes, I admit these men and the Joker here are meant for intimidating purposes, but only in so much as to prove to you that you're not just messing with someone who doesn't know what they're doing. I said to take your time...and...you," she patted his head, "lied to me just now. Silence I can take, but I don't want lies. You think that would save your ass?" She laughed, but then it stopped and her smile fell. Her fingers dug into his scalp.

Mr. Toronto cringed in pain, but then before anyone could blink, Harley slammed his head mercilessly into the table. "Gonna lie again?"

"Ms. Quinn, I-"

"A simple yes or no." His head met wood again. She raised it back up.

"Lie?"

"No."

She raised a brow and he was silent. She smirked cruelly and pulled his head back again.

"WAIT! Okay! Okay! I talked to him this morning, but I swear, he's not said anything about where he is. He's wanting more thugs so he can continue his crime spree. He's becoming very agitated by the fact that you're alive...and the Joker threatened him not too long ago it seems."

Harley glanced at the Joker who sheepishly grinned, "Guilty."

"Well, finally some honest answers, and you're very fortunate Mr. Toronto that you're of use to me now. You're going to give the Riddler a message for me when he calls again, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Harley nodded in satisfaction. "Tell him Harley says hi, and that I will find him...and that me and my puddin' are looking for him and if he turns himself into us soon, it'll be over quick and easy. And that if he attempts any more stunts against me, he'll be greatly sorry. Hmm... oh, and that his world is crumpling, there are those in his ranks whose trust and loyalty are falling, you know, all that good stuff. Got that?"

After his weak nod, Harley let him go and walked back to the Joker. She looked at two of her thugs and gestured for them to stay near her as they walked out. Once out of ear shot Harley glanced back at the room. "You stay and make sure he serves his purpose and once it's over kill him."

They nodded and stood on either side of the door.

The Joker's grip on her waist tightened and she turned to him. He caught her mouth in a searing kiss. "A woman who can give me a run for my money," he laughed, "there's nothing I'm more attracted to. You just had to go and throw yourself into Gotham's underbelly, didn't you?"

Harley grinned, "I'm a quick learner, I learned from you and unfortunately the Riddler on how to earn my way with people."

"Glad I was such a good teacher, but since your immersing yourself in the ranks of Gotham, you should met _**my**_ boys."

Thirty minutes later she was being escorted into the theater.

"A theater?"

"Yeah, there's enough room, no one comes here, it's rather perfect," he commented proudly.

Harley nodded and he opened the door for her. She stepped in and he followed suit. She paused in the front lobby and the Joker placed a hand on the small of her back. "Ready?"

"Yes."

"Boys, I have someone I would like you all to meet! Get your sorry asses out here!"

Men, some older than the Joker, some younger began to appear. All shapes, sizes; all arrays of hair and eye color. They stared first at their "employer" and then at her. Harley smiled brightly.

"This is Harley, gentlemen. She will be treated as a lady should be, nicely. She's not a hostage, so no ideas. And another thing. She's mine. Understand?" He spoke as if these men were children. They all stared at him, curious. The threat was clear, though. If anyone stepped out of line and harmed her he would not practice any mercy. The clown's hand found her hip again; his men nodded.

"Excellent, come, Harley, I'll give you the grand tour."

"Good bye, gentlemen." She bowed her head and allowed herself to be guided away. When they were out of sight and the men had filtered back to where they had come from Harley turned to the Joker, smirking. "The power you command, it gives me chills." She playfully laughed when the grip around her waist grew stronger and she was turned around and pressed gently into the wall. She felt the Joker's voice vibrate against her even as he whispered lowly in her ear.

"When I finally get my hands on you, I'll give you more than just chills." He kissed the flesh right below her ear, brushing his nose against the warm skin before he pulled back. It was his turn to tease. He heard the low sound of disapproval in her throat as his warmth began to recede and he chuckled. His hand fell to hers and he thread their fingers together. He pulled her back up and against him, diving in to take her lips sweetly. The fingers of his free hand caressed her cheek. He was still wearing his gloves but she could feel where the warmth had diffused through them. She sighed against his lips, reciprocating and when he pulled away his nose nuzzled hers. She stared up into his eyes, that were soft in the midst of black. She wrapped her arms around his neck and just embraced him. His arms cradled her waist.

"Am I still getting the grand tour?"

The Joker chuckled again, "Yeah, we can't stand here being gushy all day, I suppose."

"Oh my lord, it actually looks like a bedroom!"

The Joker snorted at her mock surprise after they walked into his room. She laughed.

"You certainly decorate like a bachelor. But it's comfortable."

The room was compromised of a bed right in front of them, headboard pressed against the wall. A dresser to the left, closet to the right along with chair and small writing table. A small amount of dirty laundry covered the floor.

"You want to make yourself comfortable? I need to go talk to the boys and when I get back, I'll get you home." He began to turn away. "Wait," she said shyly, "it is late...Would it be too much trouble to stay here for the night? I'm kinda tired now, but I'll-"

"You can sleep in one of my shirts; they're in the closet and there's also a few in the dresser over there." Harley noted fondly that he didn't so much as blanch at the offer and had been quick to speak of accommodations.

"It's not too much trouble? I don't want-"

He turned back around and silenced her with his lips. "No, it's not." His breath fanned against her face. He smiled and kissed her again, her lips parting beneath his. One hand cradled her head, the other held her waist.

He left a kiss on her flushed cheeks after he pulled away and then left.

Harley stood there a moment, lips tingling. The success of her intimidation on the mob, the Joker; she felt amazing. Call her a woman, but she had no more want than to crawl in his bed and cuddle his pillows breathing in his scent. First thing was first, however. She walked over to the door and locked it just for an extra measure. She knew how these guys worked; sometimes cockiness overrode their fear. They were criminals ...and she would be seen as a piece of bait. She smirked as she made it to the closet.

Call it her own ego, but she figured she'd be able to take care of herself.

She thumbed through the shirts, and when her fingers brushed by a familiar wad of fabric she was pulling the pale blue, hexagon-patterned button-up from the closet. It didn't take her long to remove her dress and shoes. She neatly folded the crimson article of clothing and placed it atop the writing desk along with her pistol. Then she pulled on the shirt and buttoned it.

It had been washed, but his scent still faintly clung to it. She hugged herself and gave into a girly urge to giggle. After that washed over she found the door beside the closet led to a modest bathroom. This must have once been a dressing room before the Joker it for himself. She removed her make-up and then climbed into the bed. She was overwhelmed by his scent and found her eyes involuntarily closing. She knew she hadn't unlocked the door, but she didn't want to move...

She wasn't sure how long she was out, but she was forced awake by a voice outside the door.

"Harley?!"

Her eyes flew open. She ignored the bright lights greeting her vision again and scrambled off the bed. He had started knocking desperately when she finally reached it. She opened it, prepared to apologize, but wasn't allowed to.

She had never seen the Joker scared, but she opened the door to find him leaning against the frame, eyes wide, breathing erratic. She had caused the the master of chaos himself to fear the unknown. She opened her mouth and the Joker was on her within seconds, arms holding her tightly to him, mouth taking hers desperately. The door shut behind him and he had her pulled against him as he reclined against it.

Even the Joker knew the dangers of leaving her alone here. When he pulled back he stared at her while he composed himself. Her lips were a deep red, a combination of his paint and the thorough bruising he had caused. "I didn't mean to worry you, Jack. I locked the door when I changed and I just wanted to lie in your bed and wait for you to get back. I fell asleep, I'm sorry..." He closed his eyes and sighed and then removed himself from the door. He gently released her and made his way to the bathroom to wipe off his paint.

He stared into the mirror as he washed his face. The last time he had been scared of anything was when his mother had died. The Joker wasn't afraid of anything, but who was the Joker? Not this man, no...He was Jack Nathaniel Napier, thirty-years old, and he was afraid that one of his own workers may have hurt his girlfriend. No, not afraid—terrified, horrified. He honestly didn't know what he would have done had something horrible happened to her, or worse if she had—

He shook his head and shut the water off. He used a nearby towel to dry his face, smelling Harley's scent embedded in it. He breathed it in deeply and laid it on the rim of the sink before walking back into his room. Harley was on the bed once again. She was curled tightly in a ball and in the silence her sobbing was clear.

His coat, vest, shirt, and pants found their place on a chair; his socks found a home in his shoes which he discarded beside the four-legged piece of furniture. He flicked the light off and climbed in bed. For a moment he did nothing but stare at Harley. There were two reasons she could be crying that he was aware of. She could be blaming herself for having scared him or he had hurt her feelings when he had left her by the door. He considered it was most likely the latter.

He couldn't remember the last time he had actually apologized. He wasn't sure what to do. He hesitantly raised a hand to her head and ran his fingers through her hair. She was facing away from him. He lied behind her and his other arm curled around her waist. He pulled her back against him and for a moment just buried his head in her hair. This felt extremely awkward.

"I'm not mad at you," he finally whispered. He felt her sobs lose intensity. He sighed. "I thought that maybe—"

"I know," Harley whispered. "I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"Shhhh," the Joker crooned, his leg coming to entangling in hers. He petted her head and his fingers rubbed a soothing circle on her side. He kissed her head. She slowly shifted in his arms and, after a moment of staring up at him, inclined her head and buried her fingers in his hair. She kissed him.

His thumbs brushed her cheeks. He held her face lovingly to his own for as long as her breath lasted and when they parted he found her head nuzzling below his. His arms once again retreated to her midsection and hair. With eyes half-lidded, they stared for a while into the darkness of the room. The silence and warmth of the other was all they needed.

The feeling of steady caresses across his bare chest were the factors that ultimately lulled the Joker to sleep minutes later.

The sunlight filtering in through the window woke him first, stirring him from his deepest slumber. The scent of jasmine in his nose further dispelled the notion of more sleep.

The Joker opened his eyes to a mess of blonde hair.

A swell of pride grew in his chest, overwhelming his brain as he grinned. He'd never spent the entire night with her and now as he stared at her, it was becoming a reality. The sun reflected the profile of her face; his sense of pride spread further. He sighed quietly and focused on the warmth she radiated, her breath against his chest. Yet, the moment just had to be ruined.

His bladder chose that time to break through his serenity—something he was rarely ever in possession of. He frowned and glanced down at the woman in his arms. Slowly, but steadily he slid from beneath her. He gave a sigh of relief when she only grunted and curled up tighter. He silently laughed and shook his head before tiptoeing to the bathroom and shutting the door.

When he returned a few minutes later, he had also brushed his teeth—morning breath was a curse. He slowly opened the bathroom door and silently made his way back to his bed. He had just lied back down and was about curl back around Harley when the woman turned to him sleepily. Now the sun further illuminated her face and, his eyes widened, the shirt she was wearing.

The image of Harley wearing any of his shirts was something he wouldn't mind seeing, but his hexagon shirt?

"Is there something on your shirt, or are you staring at my boobs again?"

Her sleepy voice drew his attention away. He smirked, "No to both of those. There's nothing _**on**_ my shirt...but there's someone _**in**_ it."

She turned on her back and reclined on the bed. The blanket further fell as she shifted. The Joker noticed this as the entire, delicious, expanse of her legs were revealed.

"You like the view?"

He crawled to tower over her, "Yes, would you like proof?" Her mouth pulled into a smirk and he rested one hand by her head. The other fell to her hip. He inclined his head down. "You need to wear my clothes more often." His husky voice declared before his lips teased hers.

Her fingers were entangled in his hair, one of his arms was holding her upper body close to his, and his other hand was playing with the hem of his shirt when a voice cut through the silence.

"Mr. Joker, sir!" Then there came knocking.

The Joker growled and pulled away. Harley couldn't help but laugh as he rose out of bed and stomped to the door. He flung it open and the man on the other side cowered.

"You better have a good reason for this."

"Um, the boys are ready for the job."

The door was slammed in male's face then and Harley got to laugh again as the Joker began pulling on his clothes.

"Business calls?"

"Being a villain, it's hard work, know that Harley."

"I'll stay here." She lied on her stomach watching him. "I'll be waiting here to congratulate your success."

The Joker raised his head from buttoning his vest. He stared up from beneath his eyebrows. "I'm holding you to that."

"Oh, I'm scared."

He threw on his coat and walked over to the bed. Harley raised on her knees and he pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily, "You should be," he whispered, sending a shiver of heat up her spine. He kissed her ear. "You still have your gun?"

She pointed atop her clothing. He nodded.

"I'm leaving you in charge. I told the boys to obey you when I'm not here and you are. Also, if I am ever out of commission, caught, etc. you're also in charge. You'll keep them in line."

"And shoot them if not. I won't let you down, Mr. J?" She mock saluted.

"You do a good job and I'll not be the only one getting rewarded."

She smiled and got up. She walked over to him as he prepared to leave. She stood on her tiptoes. "Be careful, Jack. I love you."

He touched her cheek. "I love you too, Harley," he whispered and they kissed one last time before he left.

That day at 11:23 am, the Joker was caught as he finished up a heist in Gotham's harbor. He was shipped immediately to Arkham.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

"_**One of the first lessons I learned was not to be fooled by appearances. Some people were who they said they were, but others hid. Today, masks would both be sewn and donned and some would be removed."**_

It stung her nose, but she could nothing but cling to the ivory bowl as her body shook in tenseness as she hurled. Elisa hadn't even eaten her whole breakfast when the nausea washed over her. She dry-heaved before panting and tentatively scooted away, back coming to rest against the bathroom wall. She leaned her head against the pale, blue wallpaper and closed her eyes. She'd get up eventually, but for now her body was shaking in the aftershocks her sickness.

This was getting ridiculous.

She had been feeling this way for a week. She clenched her fists, a week too long. This wasn't the flu like she had been saying to Edward to sooth him. No, this sure as hell wasn't the flu. She always seemed to feel better as the day progressed, but the mornings were the worst. She shook her head and slowly pulled herself to her feet. Her steps were a little shaky at first, but she managed to steady them and leave the bathroom.

She descended the stairs in the flat that one of Edward's men had bought for them and entered the kitchen quietly, feeling humiliated. Edward raised his eyes from the newspaper and they flickered to her.

"Do you need medical attention?"

His voice was not a croon, not angry. He had been acting strangely for the last days, and this voice he was using was flat, but something akin to concern colored it.

Elisa shook her head, "It normally goes away. Maybe I'm not eating well, maybe it's stress."

She was not in the mood to get into a fight with Edward; she had just healed from his treatment of her the night Harley had gotten away. She was amazed to find herself still alive and in his bed with him when she came to. Surprised and absolutely livid.

Why couldn't he just kill her?! She'd been asking for it. She hadn't wanted him to at the end, but it would have been preferable to awaking and then after healing, having to _**apologize**_ to him. She shuddered and took her seat back the table, glaring into her coffee in her sudden horrid mood, not that it wasn't normal these days.

Could nothing work out for her?

"Do you need anymore tampons?"

She blinked up at him. She haven't started yet. She shook her head.

"I'm fine."

"Midol, anything?"

"No." Why was he was being nice, so nonchalant? Normally he was up and planning mischief, attempting to get her to hurry up and help him, but he hadn't been his self in days. He was quiet contemplative, and she sometimes felt him watching her. It wasn't with the calculation he normally did, either. Edward didn't look at her like a toy, it was almost as if he stared at her in actual adoration.

She snorted to herself and stood up, taking her dark mug with her to the sink. She turned on the faucet and began to rinse out the cup. It was everyday, mundane gestures like this that kept even a shred of her thin sanity.

She watched the warm water flow into the cup until it overflowed, spilling over the navy porcelain glass. Her eyes reminded focused on this for awhile, just feeling the tepid water through her fingers. At some point, though, she knew the rush of the faucet had gone on long enough. She switched it off and left the mug. She inwardly sighed and pivoted around only to find herself frozen as her eyes met his.

He was watching her again.

"Edward," she sighed, "is there any particular reason you're staring at me?"

"Why?" His mouth quirked upwards, the depression in his eyes was now fading. Her gut clenched at that. "Am I not allowed to stare, pooh?"

"No, but you've been doing it a lot."

He nodded to himself, "I'm worried," his voice was honest. "You've grown reclusive, more so. I know, sometimes your spunk gets you into trouble, but I like your fight for the most part, and to see my Enigma sick, well, I'm worried."

"I'm fine, though, probably just stress. I mean that Toronto guy called, right? Harley Quinn is now free falling off the deep end. She has joined forces with the Joker, and I know," she raised her hands in surrender, although her voice was a deadpan, "I let her out and thus allowed for it to happen."

He leaned forward, chin in his hands and raised an eyebrow, "Oh, much more has passed than just that phone call. This morning I received a lovely little package. You were asleep, dear, and your cute innocence saved you my nasty temper. Would you like to guess what was in the gift?"

Elisa shook her head. Edward's fingers were clenching beneath his chin. His _**lovely**_ mood was coming back. Elisa felt her stomach lurch again. 'No,' she thought, 'not now.' For her credit, she kept her face straight, not letting any distress leak out of her. He continued to regard her, but after it was obvious she would supply nothing, he grinned and stared ahead of himself.

"Photos," he snickered darkly, "photos of Mr. Toronto's corpse. It wasn't fancy, but it appears he served his purpose only to then be executed. I'm lucky I have others in the mob than just that sniveling worm." He was angry, his mouth belied it. Elisa wasn't sure whether to be relieved or even more on edge. His cruel, brown eyes turned back to hers. "You are lucky I have more replaceable men. You are also lucky that I have forgiven you for your transgression. Had I not, well-"

She had been listening, but her stomach was cramping. She tried vainly to breathe through her nose. Nausea once again overrode her. That's when her eyes widened. She cut Edward off, as she whipped around and holding on to the sink, allowed herself to once again purge her system. Her eyes misted not in pain, but humiliation as she lurched on her feet. Her knuckles were turning white at the grip they had on the counter, and she was so focused on that that she didn't hear Edward stand up and come behind her. She shivered when she felt his fingers pulling her hair back gently and then he was caressing her back with his palm. She whimpered when she was done.

"Shhh, it's alright," Edward whispered to her as she turned on the water and rinsed her mouth of the taste. His hand made idle patterns across her back and his hand fell from her hair. Then his grip fell to her hips. "When was the last time I had you for my own," he murmured; his nose began nuzzling her head. "Your skin is absolutely glowing. Of course, they do say that pregnant women are some of the most beautiful creatures. I'm certainly not immune."

She stiffened. Her hands fell to the stomach and rested there. Edward's joined hers. "Yes, pregnant. You're late on your monthly cycle, we've been promiscuous, and you're suffering from morning sickness. All the signs point to it, but if you'd like, I can send one of the boys to a convenience store. Would you like me to get you a pregnancy test?"

Pregnant. Pregnant?! With Edward's child? Her body went into shock, but she nodded mutely. Edward placed a small kiss at her temple and then pulled away. She heard him leave the room, his footsteps growing smaller, but she was immobile for a moment as her eyes stared fixedly ahead.

She was most likely pregnant. Her hands gently ran over her smooth abdomen. She sniffed and her legs crumpled beneath her. She fell to the floor and sobbed.

It was around noon, when Harley was awoken from her light slumber; she had fallen back asleep not long after the Jack had left. There was a light knock at the door.

She sat up in bed and tilted her head. Jack would have just let himself in; she hadn't locked the door.

"Ms. Harley?"

The voice certainly wasn't his. She pulled her gun from atop her clothing and tucked into the waistband of her underwear in the back. She leaned forward on her elbows.

"You woke me up, come in." She yawned and watched as the door opened.

It was the man from earlier this morning. He fidgeted with his hands as his eyes met hers hesitantly. "I'm sorry to wake you."

She grinned, "I believe I could forgive you, but I'd like to know what brings you here. Aren't you suppose to be with Mr. J?"

He nodded, "That's what I came to tell you. He's been captured, Ms. Harley."

Her grin fell instantly, "Captured?"

"And most likely sent back to Arkham Asylum."

Harley threw her legs over the edge of the bed and walked to the man, "You're going to tell me everything, alright?"

His gaze flickered in shock at the choice of her attire, but he bowed his head, "Of course, Boss told us, that if anything ever happened to him you were in charge. We were suppose to be pulling your run-of-the-mill heist. We were stealing weapons from some ship in the harbor. We was just loading our goods when the cops showed up. Boss was still on the ship, making sure the charges were in place. Before I knew what was happening the Joker was stepping from the boat, being led by an officer—an officer had posed as a one of the guys that joined us today apparently. Joker gave us a look and then the driver of my car was pulling out. I stared back as I shut the door, but I couldn't do anything."

Harley listened to him and after he was done with the retelling, patted him on the shoulder and nudged him to turn around. "You did good, you told me. I appreciate that, I appreciate it a lot. So here's what you're going to do." She began to push him from the room, he took the hint and began walking. "You gather up all the men, and bring them to the stage. I think I should talk to them. I have a hunch, and besides," she smiled, "I'd like to talk to them personally. So go on then and get them."

"Right away," he rushed down the hallway out of sight. Harley watched him in bemusement before she turned her gaze down the opposite end. She rolled up the sleeves of the Jack's borrow shirt, before running a hand through her probably disheveled blonde hair. She began to walk the down the hall in the direction she had been looking.

The exact amount of time that passed was unimportant; she wasn't left alone on the stage for long as the men entered. She stood confidently before them, clothed in little else but the hexagon-patterned shirt. The cool texture of the gun rested against her lower back as she stared at them.

"Afternoon gentlemen," she smiled and looked around the room, "as you know your employer has been caught by the Gotham Police." She frowned. "And that's just not fun, but you see...in order for them to have caught him," she began pacing, staring ahead of herself, "in order for them to catch him, they would have had to have known where he was going to be." She paused and then pivoted around on her bare feet.

"And that's the thing," she lowered her face, staring darkly from beneath her lashes, "the only people who knew were you and me. I've been asleep, and didn't find out 'til this morning where he was going. So that leaves one of you...and as stand-in Boss, I believe my duty is to find out who. So let's start with the simple questions-"

"What you going to do, kick our ass in nothing but a shirt?" One of the men laughed.

Harley grinned dangerously, "That's the idea. Do you have any objections?"

He scoffed humorously, "How are you going to do that?"

Harley straightened her posture and threaded her fingers together, "Oh, you'll find out, chum. You'll find out. So where was I before my _**rude**_ interruption?...Ah, so who went with Mr. J on the heist today?" She cooed at them.

Of course the guy who had spoken with her before raised his hand, but the others were reluctant. She snickered. "Alright, then." She pointed at the man. "You, come up here." He reluctantly stood up and alighted the stage. Harley directed him to stand beside her and then threw an arm around his shoulder.

"Point to one of the men that went on the job with you."

He did as directed and Harley called upon the man, a blonde-haired male in the second row.

"You, there. Want to direct me to another one of your companions?"

"How about no? Boss, may have put you in charge, but I'm not apt to take orders from a woman. What'd he think you do?"

Harley dismounted the stage and nimbly made way her to stand before him. She reached behind her and extracted her gun. "I believe he thought I'd do this," she pointed it at him. He and the others around him went still. She smirked. "Now, either you tell me of your own volition and you get off scotch free for now. I'll forget your disrespect. Or I'll shoot you, you won't ever go home, if you have one, and _**he'll **_tell me another name. You may not like him, but he understands the rules, unlike you. So, what's it going to be, and oh, you only have thirty seconds."

She blinked at him, her expression sadistic. He was wondering if she was bluffing. Did he want to take that risk? He gulped as the gun began to rise. Her grin grew wider, her finger began to compress the trigger—

"WAIT!" He threw his hands up, "I'll tell ya," she didn't remove her gun from its aim. She raised an eyebrow and her free hand waved for him to continue. "The guy beside me." She turned the gun on him. "Now, boys, I know you're a little antsy. Anyone would be with a gun, but I just request that you stay seated...I don't think anyone of you wants to know how fast of a draw I am, so let's not test it...you might not like the result." She spoke to all the men, but her eyes were on the man she had the pistol pointed it. "So a name?"

Getting the men wasn't challenge after that. Her behavior, hinging on madness, and her ability to seeming glare into your soul with those eyes of hers, soon showed the men why their boss had chosen this girl to be his partner; they knew now why she was their boss as well.

She brought all the men who had gone on the heist to the stage and then, one by one, as their comrades waited in the audience, she drew each one privately to the rear of the stage. No one heard the conversation, but afterwards they would all return to their previous positions on the stage, some pale, others seemingly relieved.

Harley wasn't going to let her psychiatric skills go to shambles. They came in handy in this field of business. Just because she would most likely lose her accreditation after she was found to be an accomplice, didn't mean she wasn't still a doctor that knew the mind well.

Finally the last of the men that had accompanied Jack on the heist reappeared back on stage with Harley close behind. She turned to the men and gave them a smile. "If I tap ya on the shoulder, you can go take your seat again." And she walked towards the line of men, one-by-one dismissing them.

Two were left standing on the it the end. She turned to them, a stony-face man with curly black hair and a pale, quivering male whose red hair was cut in a fade. She stared intently at them. "And then there were two...so do you know why you're left here?"

Neither of them said anything.

Harley aimed her gun between them and turned to the rest of the men, "Do you know why they're still up here?"

"Cuz the broad dinks we had somethin' ta do wit' the Joker's capture."

Harley pivoted around and stared at the blacked-haired man, whose accented voice had replied over her head. "Right-a-rooney," she laughed, "so you want to own up to it now? If ya admit I'll let you go."

"He forced me to help him!" The shaky-one exclaimed, pointing at the other, who merely rolled his eyes.

"Bastard deserved it. We ain't been on many decent heists since he got out. First we's forced to search for ya, den cart him back an' forth 'tween here and dere. He's gotten weak, and all 'cuz what, a pair 'a nice tits?! You must be a good fuck, for him to have kept you around and den had da balls to tell us you's in charge. What are ya, his fetish freak whore? I bet ya don't even have da balls to pull dat trigger. You just act tough like 'im, you ain't foolin' me."

"Fetish, freak whore," Harley repeated, biting her lip as she smiled, trying not to laugh. "Well, I must say, I've not been call that ever. Actually, I was his doctor, and as much as I appreciate your compliments on my bust, well...Did you say I wouldn't have the balls to pull this trigger?" Her eyes flashed, "Now there's a challenge there." She turned to look at the shaky-one. "You should have known that had he not found you out, I would. But like I said," she waved her gun as if pondering, "I'll let you go." The gun halted and she pulled the trigger.

After the sound died away the red-head was on his back atop the stage, a bullet hole in his forehead. She sighed, "I never said how I'd let you go...oops, should have mentioned that before." She shrugged and turned to the man who had told her off.

"Were you talking about in general, or do I have to shoot you too to prove my point?"

The man was staring mutely at the now dead body of his accomplice. He glared up at her, "You little bitch."

"What, you said I wouldn't pull the trigger." She laughed. "And now because I did, you call me a bitch? You're being awfully rude, ya know."

His nostrils flared and then he dove at her, "You have no right, freak!" She shook her head and brought her knee to his stomach. He coughed and she punched him in the jaw, before sweeping her leg beneath him. He fell to the wooden stage. She aimed her gun at his temple.

"Freak? You need to broaden your vocabulary. I believe I have a right to do as I want with you, and as of right now, you're the only one who doesn't quite understand that. Your boss put me in charge, thus I am the Boss for now. I really don't like guys like you. Just because I'm pretty, just because I'm short and a woman, you just don't think I can handle myself. My name is Harley Quinn, and you, my idiotic traitor are finished, buh-bye." She laughed and shot him several times, each signaled by a rise in her laughter.

When she was finished, she turned back to the audience and tucked her gun back against her back. "So, anyone else want to argue with me? Anyone else have a problem with me as head of this operation for now?"

No said a word. She grinned and then it happened, two sets of booming laughter echoed around the hall. She glared up at the culprits: two African-American men in the third row. One had a purple stud in his right ear and dreads; the other was bald with a green stud in his left ear. They were both lanky, but possessed muscle.

"Do you find me funny, gentlemen?" Her voice was lace with poison.

"Nah, Ms. Q," the bald one said, "we're laughin' with ya. You got spunk, and Bud and I, we respect that. We're impressed, ain't we, Bud?"

The other nodded, "Hell yes. No wonder Boss-man likes ya. So's you need any help, like getting rid of those two fleabags? Lou and I'll help."

Bud and Lou, huh? She grinned, "I'd love that, boys, would you be so kind?"

The two began to get up. Harley nodded. "Thanks, now that the trash is being taken out, some of you will be escorting me back to my home. I need to get some clothes...as much as running around in just this little number would be, I think some of you are enjoying it a little _**too**_ much. Besides, we need to get Mr. J out of Arkham...and I believe I have just the thing, but I'll need some help. Bud, Lou, when I get back, report to me immediately, I have something special I'd like the two of ya to do."

"Sure thing, Ms. Q!" Bud grinned as he and Lou alighted the stage and picked up the bodies.

The little plus sign didn't lie, and after three times in a row from three other tests, she believed it.

Elisa watched, sitting on the toilet dejectedly, as Edward came into the bathroom and made a beeline for her. She held out her hand which held the final test. He took it and stared at it a moment, before he grinned.

"It's official, then, huh?" He said and threw it in the trash.

He squatted down before Elisa and raised her chin with his hands, "Aw, why such the long face, my dear? Surely you knew it was bound to happen. We never took any protective action." She remained quiet refusing to look at him, although she was afraid she would anger him. He only sighed, "Is it the fact that we're in the middle of a 'turf-war', you could say?" Still she said nothing. She wasn't mad at the baby. It couldn't help how it was conceived and by who. She just felt numb. She was angry at Edward, for even using her so that now she had a life inside her, she was mad at herself being such a pushover. She angry, as well, for almost fully buying into Edward's sweet act. He had not harmed her in days and now he was being gentle.

His arms thread around her middle. He laid his head on her shoulder. He wasn't even mad that she had gotten pregnant, wasn't that messing with his plans?

"You planned this?" Her voice was bitter.

Edward laughed softly and he buried his head into her neck, "No, I didn't plan it, but I expected it could happen. We did nothing to prevent it, my little Enigma, but I don't regret it. How can I? A child, I know I am not the most patient of men, but I can try, right?"

She couldn't say anything and Edward's lips began to litter her jaw with small kisses. "I'm sorry if this was unexpected to you," his voice was deep, he pulled her closer to him and then stood up. She found herself in his arms. "Let me apologize, let me make it better." His kiss was gentle, reminding her of the first nights she had shared with him. Her heart sputtered in anguished fight, he didn't mean it, she knew it. He couldn't, but her lips separated for him. He held her tightly to himself as she was made of fragile glass.

He was tender as he carried her from the room and laid her upon their bed. He tucked strands of her hair behind her ear and kissed her nose.

"I'll be gentle," he promised, and he was, adoringly so. Yet Elisa was too far jaded to be fooled, even as she wished to be. Ignorance had been the first trait Edward had forced from her.


	18. Update and Question

___**(A/N): I**_**wrote**___** this in April of 2009, but I felt I should place something here instead of an author's note. So here's this to entertain you. It is followed by the message I would like to share with you, all of my readers if you're still around, because I think you deserve it.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than Elisa, this story, and the characterization I have of Edward.**_

* * *

**Are you afraid of me?**

Looking back at the beginning, when she allowed herself such—and she often did—yes, she had been afraid. Elisa remembered every punch and curse, and still she felt the effects of the previous abuse. A rope burn; she gingerly touched her wrists and raised her eyes to the bathroom mirror away from the vanity where her attention had been gazing for what seemed like an eternity.

**Well are you afraid of me?**

She sighed, there was no use lying, she was still afraid. Her eyes fell back to the vanity, at the item that laid there. For the first time more than just the fire of revenge burned in her. She shook her head, trying to dispel the tears that were gathering in her throat. No, she was not afraid for herself, but for someone else. Her fingers curled atop the ivory surface, cool beneath her skin. Her ears were alert for the sign of anyone approaching, but she was alone for now. For now...

**What are you trying to do to me, to do to me?**

She tentatively took the item from the counter and threw it in the trash its truth never leaving her. This was the third time she had seen it. She backed up and sat down on the toilet seat, her head finding her hands and bowing. This journey, this transformation. Why had it all begun? What luck had she had to become so entangled. Was she to blame for the horror her life had become months ago, almost a half a year ago? She had done nothing, but fallen in love, a reality she had come to discover was cruel.

One hand found her throat and caressed it, remembering the first time he had choked her. She poked her cheek; she recalled first time he had slapped her. The first time he had gagged her, starved her, rammed her head in a wall. She felt bile raise in her throat...The first time he had raped her. He had been so gentle at first. One could look at Edward, and never know the fury and insanity that lied beneath those deceiving emerald jewels of his eyes. She loved the fake Edward who had gently made love to her, cooed beautiful poetry, not this madman who was the Riddler.

**What are you trying to prove to me, to prove to me?**

He was such a girl. She snickered at that fleeting thought. What was his motive? Geez, he just wanted to pay back Gotham for their jeers. They had laughed at his experiments, called them too crude and told him they invaded a person's God-given privacy. He wanted to turn the human mind into data. Was it just her or did that sound a little 1984? Big Brother's watching you? No, no, Edward Daniel Nashton was watching you, planning his next move.

He was smart, a genius, and nothing, absolutely nothing was hefty enough to have turned him into the sociopath he had become. He just got a taste of power and wanted more. Crazy, insane, nacarrist who enjoyed to the greatest sadistic degree the pain of all those who disappointed or out-thought him. What a giant, baby. What was he, three?

But dread must interrupt even one's attempt to escape the overwhelming panic. Elisa's head rose and her fawn eyes found the small trashcan. She stood up; there was no telling how long she had until he and his henchmen came back.

**There's something you're not saying**

She calmly walked to the blue, modest bin and picked it up. She grasped it in one arm and walked from the bathroom, her feet still in their shoes echoing softly beneath her.

She had much that Edward would never know. He already knew she was beginning to pull away. He was starting to see just how much of an enigma Enigma really was. Her release of Harley, her blatant disrespect that would bloom and plummet tipping him off to her secrets, but she said nothing, but the moment was nearing. It was very close.

Now she another reason. She kept her face blank.

**But your actions say enough**

She felt herself almost sigh in relief as seconds later her eyes fell on the back door. The house was eeriely quiet. It made her feel off ease, observed. She tried to shake off the feeling as she reached for the knob.

"You're being quiet, Elisa."

She jumped and whipped around to see Edward leaning against the door to the downstairs washroom. Her heart was thudding in her chest. He looked to the trash bin.

"I really don't like it when you're quiet. Makes me suspicious."

She had been quiet often lately she realized, some because she felt sick—now she knew the illness behind that—and some because she was scheming her escape. She sighed, but within something was sparking, an idea.

**And I don't know what's really going on**

She would have to tread slowly now. If she played her cards right then the rest would go smoothly. She raised her eyes.

"C'mon, Edward, I'm not feeling well, and besides," she pouted, "I've not seen you in a while. I miss you when you're gone. I can't be a chatterbox all day and night, especially if I don't feel up to it. Speaking of being suspicious, what are you doing here?"

She kept her voice light, in order not to incense him, but she was very irritated. What was he still doing here? I mean what was she a puppy who wasn't house-trained? She resisted the urge to scowl and glare at him.

"One of the boys left the warehouse keys here. I noticed the house was quiet and I was worried."

'Yeah, worried I might have called the police—like I'm not a criminal already—or that I had run off. You weren't worried about my well-being. Hell, I bet you'd laugh if you found me passed out.'

"Sorry, I was in the bathroom, and now if you'll excuse me I need to take this out so I can have something to barf in." She simpered.

She knew he had not liked her attitude, but she could have cared less. She was allowed to be fatigued and moody if she wanted. She ignored his own frown and her hand turned the knob to enter into the alley. "Oh, the boys are gonna love me, sick and on my cycle!"

**I leave a message every night**

When she returned he was still standing there. She placed the now empty bin at her feet and shut the door.

"Don't you have plans to make? A Harley Quinn to find?"

"Elisa, your attitude is starting to grate my nerves."

She clenched her fists, "Well, I'm _**sorry**_I'm not to your liking." She clearly wasn't. "Geez, finally you're being shown how perfect life actually is. Hell, I learned that when I discovered who the Riddler was. You don't like my attitude, Eddy?" She smirked and wrung her hands in mock innocence. "You created it. You pushed, abused, and took me against my will."

"You've been getting snappier and snappier. Do I need to teach you another lesson, Enigma?"

He was walking towards her now. She wasn't afraid for her own well-being, but that dread from earlier clawed at her.

"No," she shook her head, and turned away, "you should learn from your own. You attempt to turn someone's lives upside down and there shall be consequences to pay. You never should have mistreated me or can't you tell it yet, Riddler? Each and every misuse of me and I get cattier. I'm not a ditz, my only sin was I loved you. I'm also not disillusioned. Other than helping you and being your accomplice in crime, I'm nothing but your sex toy."

**But you don't call me**

The Riddler grinned, still coming ever closer. She did not move; enough was enough. She would stand up to him.

"Such harsh words, my sweets. Are disappointed? Angry? Want to tell me how you feel, because yes, you are my little doll, a very supple doll. You never complain about my love-making."

Elisa outright laughed. "Love-making? There's nothing loving, not anymore! I don't even make a sound anymore. When I do, it's just to fool you! See! I HATE YOU!" She was tensed now. "You get such a pleasure out of my pain. I should be nothing to you! I wish I was. I hate you! I never wanted this!" She raised her arms and gestured around her. All her resentment was seeping out. Her chest was burning from tears.

Damn it!

She didn't want to cry in front of him. He had paused, his face was a dark sneer. She had seen this many a time before the pain of some "punishment" or another came her way.

"So, I'm not enough for you, huh? Have you been messing around behind my back? Who is it?"

"What? You're insane! When am I not around you? And who do you think I'd go for? Hah! They'd rape me before I gave in to them, but you do that all the time, huh? Take me unwillingly, so what would stop anyone. You don't love me! I hate you! And it would appear that I'm apparently not good enough for you! I'm not a whore! I'm Elisa! I AM NOT YOUR ENIGMA!"

**The only times we ever talk you're in a hurry**

Two pairs of accusing emerald eyes stared at one another. Both were jaded, angry. Who would speak first? In the last month it should have been noted her instances of asserting herself to him were becoming more and more common. She was standing up to him, undaunted by the consequences. He hardly ever spoke to her unless it was to vent anger or to take his release.

He convulsed slightly in ill-masked rage. His mouth thinned, his nostrils flared. He reached into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and hit a button. "I'm going to be late, Bynes, my little Enigma needs to learn her place." He stuffed back in his pocket and glared at her. An unnerving grin painted his face. "Yes, you certainly need to learn your lesson. This one will hurt. I'm going to make you see just how much you really are mine, Elisa."

**I know my reputation doesn't help you sleep at night**

"What are you going to do, oh, master Riddler? Hate what you created? How unfortunate." She gave an amused laugh. That broke the cloud. Thunder rolled as the rain of fire fell. "Teach me a lesson, Riddler. Catch me!" She turned tail and ran down the hall away from him.

She didn't look back. Tonight would make it or break it. She flew around the corner. She knew where the chase would end, at least where she wanted it to. She fumbled in the dimness of his office as she continued her eluding.

She pulled open the door that adjoined to the living room.

"Elisa," she heard his twitter behind her. "Oh, stop running, my dear, the pain will only be worse."

He was closer than she thought. She snapped the door shut and locked it from the outside—it had been installed that way to keep people out.

She heard the door roughly shaken as he realized her doing. She knew the reaction as she grabbed the frame of the wall to rest a moment. Her breath was coming in short pants, but she had had to go on.

"Elisa! I'm going to tie to the bed, then I'm doing to whip you until you scream and are bleeding so heavily you pass out from the blood loss. I'm to bound you to the bedpost and let you suffer. You're so beautiful that way."

She heard him bounding from the room and back into the hallway. She pushed off the wall and ran to the stairs and her feet slapped against the the wood as she sped up them.

**But lately baby I feel I don't know you**

She almost missed her turn as she whipped around. Only now did she afford herself a backward glance. He was still coming up the stairs. She could hear his dark laughter, toxic with rage. She dove into the bedroom she shared with him and ducked beside the bed. She lied on her stomach fumbling beneath it as his footsteps slowed.

"Elisa, Elisa," he crooned giddily. "Come out. If you do...I'll not tie you to the bed post. C'mon, I do hate to ruin your beauty."

She felt her hand make contact with the cold steel of a pistol she had hidden beneath the mattress. She pulled back and cowered against the wall, concealing the weapon by placing one arm behind her back.

"Enigma, my little rough, cunning Enigma, Riddler doesn't like this game! He's becoming very, very angry!" His tenor was screeching now. She winced and brought her free hand to her abdomen.

She was not afraid of him of her own accord. She was afraid for the life that grew inside her. It mattered not that it was child sired by the man she most despised now. She loved the being, loved it unconditionally, an emotion she had thought had died. She wanted the child, but the Riddler wouldn't something told her that, and if he did—she didn't want to think on that. She would get out for its sake, escape while she could. She rubbed her stomach.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word, momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His footsteps were approaching. She tried to quiet her breath. It seemed so loud in the silence that had come.

He would not hurt the baby. He would not hurt her anymore. It was all for the child that grew in her. She would survive, it would survive and become her beautiful son or daughter, never knowing of its father.

**I thought we were the same**

"Well, well, that wasn't hard. And here I thought the whole locking my office would mean you really wanted to play. Hmmm," He was towering over her atop the bed. She opened her eyes. "Awww, look who's been caught." He reached down as if gently, but when his hands delved into her hair all acts fell.

She hissed as he pulled her forward roughly. "Don't you ever back talk me again, you ungrateful whore!"

She glared up at him, "And don't you ever underestimate me, you sick bastard!" She pulled the gun in front of her and before he could react she had pulled the trigger. He screamed in a mix of pain and fury as the bullet lodged in his shoulder.

He let her go and she rocketed up and attempted a dash away, still clutching the gun. His hand latched around her waist,however, knocking her breathless as she was thrown to the side and on the bed. He pinned her wrists above her head, squeezing them until she let go of the gun.

**But now you play this game**

"You and I are too alike, such a godsend, hm? No, what an irritating nuisance. You're not good for anything other than pleasure, you keening little bitch. All you're useful for is a pair of open legs. You never would have gotten into this situation if you had declined me when I first offered a tussle in the sack. But, you feel so good, and I love it when you scream. I love to hurt you because, there's nothing I enjoy more than absolute control. Yet, if you had only kept that little barb of yours you call a tongue controlled you never would have found yourself in any pain."

"You're the Riddler, how did you expect me to react? Stop lying to yourself! Total control! What a joke. You're not gonna win. You sure you don't just despise my outbursts because I remind you of the one person you couldn't even break...Harley...Harley...She's gonna get you, she's gonna break you, she's gonna-"

He forced his knee into her diaphragm. He watched as she gasped, grinning. "She's gonna what?" He whispered, sure she wouldn't answer and only whimper.

"She's...gonna...make you...scream..." She managed and attempted to laugh. He took his knee away, allowing her air and she coughed only to meet the headboard with her skull. His hands enclosed around her throat. "How dare you!"

**You're young, no fun**

"You're pathetic! So infantile...You have to...beat your women to...to...have control. Did...mommy...never...hug...you?" He growled and tightened his grip at her mockings. His vision had gone red.

"Ah...ah..." She laughed weakly and then one of the worst feelings overcame him. In his haze of anger he had forgotten to immobilize her as he choked her. She had kicked him in the crotch. He was forced to release, his hands falling to the front of his pants.

He wheezed. She smirked and began unclothing a long, large pillow. "Since that part of you decides so much, I decided to shut it for a little while. Did that hurt?"

**And you're making me crazy**

He couldn't move. Only growl at her. He couldn't even speak. The pain was unimaginable. She cackled as she then hovered over him, the darkest expression of revenge on her face. "Don't worry, I'll not kill you yet. But, my dashing Riddler, you need to learn your lesson. This is what thinking with your balls gets you."

She ripped the pillowcase quite easily in two in a sudden adrenaline high. She took one half and bound his hands tightly, almost to the point of no circulation. Then she scampered to his feet and did the same. She nimbly got off the bed, and grabbed a handkerchief from the beside table, proceeding to gag him.

**Well, are you afraid me?**

"I don't have time to beat you slowly." She skipped to the foot of the bed and gathered her pistol in her hands. "This will just have to suffice." She raised it and grinned. "I want you to scream." She ordered and shot him in the kneecap.

**(Afraid of me, are you afraid of me?)**

It was loud, filled with pain. She loved the feeling of power she had over him then. She stared down at the bloody knee, wondering if she had cracked bone. His eyes were tearing. She laughed and stuffed the gun in the back of her jeans.

**Well, are you afraid me?**

No, she wasn't frightened. She saluted the Riddler. "Thanks for creating me, Boss! Hope you enjoyed the end result." She simply walked to the bedroom door, but she paused and turned back around. "I'm not done with you yet Riddler. Find me if you can. Here's a riddle for you, Eddy. An ebony and crimson goddess bathed in fire, I am Eris. I am the jester of your nightmares and the court fool was once my responsibility. I am your anti-force and where I hide the Enigma will soon discover and go. I was never under your control. I am my own Enigma."

**(Afraid of me, are you afraid of me?)**

She seemed to have a revelation. She walked back over to him and pulled out his phone.

"Tell me to chase me if you want...or else be silent...I'm giving you a choice."

She pressed a number, hit the call button, and placed it on speaker.

"I'm not afraid of you, but you, Edward, you should be terrified of the Eve you have created."

And she simply left. The front door had shut and it echoed in Edward's mind so much that for a moment he didn't hear his man on the other line calling his name.

Even when it did reach him, he offered no words.

Edward screamed loudly in the most consuming fury he had ever felt.

* * *

_**(A/N): It's been over a year since I updated this story. It actually seems like more time has passed, and I guess it has. Come March 2012 it will have been two years. School ate my creativity and I've been unable to produce much, but I was playing with the idea of rewriting this. This isn't a promise, there's no telling what the future will bring and I want to get started on my original fiction, hoping to get published. But if I were to write this, it may not be until after the next movie comes out. It just depends and if I do rewrite this before then, it won't be uploaded until after the whole thing is finished, to save you the frustration you're facing now, since I've not updated this in so long. **_

_**So tell me what you think. Should I rewrite this? Expect darker characterization and a story that may or may not be rated M for such violence and ect.**_


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